Pilgrim's Progress: Pilgrim Girls
by living in dreamland
Summary: Late one night as I sat by my fire and read a familiar book, I found myself overcome by sleep, and as I dreamed, I saw the book before me coming to life before my eyes, transporting me from my living room to a world both familiar and foreign.
1. Desolation

Late one night as I sat by my fire and read a familiar book, I found myself overcome by sleep, and as I dreamed, I saw the book before me coming to life before my eyes, transporting me from my living room to a world both familiar and foreign.

I saw in my dream a girl whose name was Christian, who had fled with her family from the City of Destruction, and wore the clothes of a pilgrim on the way to the Celestial City, and carried with her a scroll called Assurance and a key called Promise, which she had received at the cross. It was there that her mother, once Fearful, became Valiant, and her father, who had been called Stubborn, became Steadfast. Even her younger sister had been changed from Sullen to Joyful. Yet Christian was simply Christian, and she was not ashamed of her name or the One she represented.

They had gone a good way down the straight, narrow path when they came to the town of Vanity and passed through its great fair, where their refusal to buy of the fair's goods had enraged the people beyond reason, and they set out to persecute and kill them. It was in that town that Christian's parents and sister died, and Christian alone was taken to a far country and sold as a slave.

She was brought to the heart of Desolation, to a great house called Decadence owned by one Lawless, who set her to work in the fields and among the animals. There were in the house two sisters about Christian's age. The younger of the two was a lively, sympathetic creature, who quickly took to Christian and tried by various means to distract her from her grief. Though she was no longer exactly a child, she had not yet received her proper name, nor made one for herself. But as there were only two young ladies in the house and one did not speak, Christian did not find this particularly troublesome.

The elder girl was rarely seen outside her room, though Christian often saw her at her window, looking out over the field. She wore a very stately gown and a great deal of jewelry, and the sight of Christian often made her start back, as if in horror.

"Don't mind her," the younger girl said of her sister. "She's hopeless."

And it seemed that Hopeless was indeed her name, for she always went about with such a look of defeat and despair as to depress the spirits of the merriest person, so that Christian was rather relieved to be spared her company.

It was, therefore, with great surprise that Christian discovered her in her room late one afternoon, looking over a little book, which was one of the few possessions Christian had in all the world. When she saw that Christian had come in, she quickly closed the book and leapt to her feet.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to pry, but I hoped to speak with you a moment, and I couldn't help noticing—"

She stood holding the book for a moment as if unsure whether or not to give it up.

"Is this yours?" she asked finally.

Christian looked at her warily and said that it was.

"And...do you really believe everything that it says?"

Christian affirmed that she did.

"Then," —here the girl's voice dropped to a whisper— "are you really going to the Celestial City?"

As Christian stared in amazement, the girl continued, "Do you know the way? Will you take me with you?"

Now Christian was sorry to disappoint the girl, and had just opened her mouth to admit that she was not at all sure of the way to the gate, which she knew must be the first step on the path, as she had been only a child when she had first come to it. But as she was about to speak, she looked out the window and saw to her surprise a light shining in the growing darkness, and there, at the far end of the field, where moments before there had been only a line of trees, now stood a little wicket gate.


	2. To the Gate

At the sight of the gate, Christian and her companion felt a surge of hope and made haste to leave at once. As it was now almost evening, when much of the house was asleep or just waking up, they had little fear of being noticed or stopped, and agreed that the best course of action would be to leave by the front door and run across the open field, straight for the gate. After taking back her book and securing it in her pocket, Christian ran to the younger girl's room and knocked, in hopes of persuading her to join them.

The first knock received no response, so Christian tried again, with more urgency. At last there was a stirring inside, and the door opened slightly, revealing the younger girl, disheveled and deeply annoyed at being roused from her sleep.

"What do you want?"

"The gate I told you of has appeared in the distance. We must go at once."

"You mean to leave us?" the girl asked in confusion. "But you can't! What will we do without you?"

"I don't want to leave you," Christian said, "but I can't stay here, in a city doomed to destruction. Please, come with me."

The girl seemed somewhat appeased by this answer, but after some consideration asked, "But what's the hurry? Can't we wait until the morning?"

"We haven't a moment to lose. There are many warnings against putting off such opportunities, such as, _Today if ye will hear His voice, harden not your heart_ , and, _Boast not thyself of tomorrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth_ , and, _Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation_."

Yet the younger girl still hesitated and urged Christian to go ahead, which she at last did, with some discouragement.

The two girls seemed to be about halfway across the field, which now appeared far longer, wider, and wilder than it had just moments before, when they heard a voice calling after them, and looking back, they saw the younger girl running to catch up with them, though slowly and often stopping to catch her breath. Christian now gladly stopped and waited for her, while the elder girl walked ahead alone.

Now it came to pass that before she had gone much farther, she came over a little hill and found straight ahead a great swamp, and, seeing no way over or around, she stopped and stood at the very edge.

After some time, the others caught up to her, the younger girl clearly having recovered a great deal of energy as she came rushing headlong and pushed her sister into the swamp.

"Well, what were you doing just standing there?" she demanded.

"Do you not see the swamp before us? I can see no way to get through."

"I remember," Christian offered, "there used to be a set of steps by which we might cross safely. Look, here."

With that, the younger girl pushed forward and went running ahead, while Christian followed after as quickly as she could, watching carefully lest she should, in her haste, slip and fall into the swamp. The elder girl went slowly after, and it was not long before she lost sight of the others.

It was then I saw that the girl called Hopeless indeed carried a heavy burden, though Christian did not perceive it. Her clothes and jewelry, which had looked very fine in the distance, appeared altogether different upon closer inspection. Her dress was cheap, deeply stained, and stiflingly hot, and yet somehow unable to keep out the wind, so she burned and froze all at once. What had looked like delicate chains of fine gold were chains indeed, surprisingly thick and badly tarnished, which coiled tightly around her neck, ankles, and wrists and weighed her down greatly until she could hardly stand. Yet greater still was the burden no one could see, that of her constant and growing awareness of her deficiencies and failures and her utter inability to overcome them, along with an ever growing sense of guilt and despair that could by no means be ignored or alleviated, fear of judgment and condemnation both in this world and the next, and constant fear and uncertainty which stole whatever peace or pleasure she might have otherwise found in material comforts.

After some time, she came to a place where the steps were particularly slippery and somewhat obscured by branches, rushes, and a heavy fog that came in as the sun began to set. Here she caught up with Christian, who had slipped and nearly fallen, and helping her up, they continued together slowly until they came to the end of the swamp, just as the sun began to rise again. Then did Christian quicken her speed and soon outpaced her companion once more, as she went calling after the younger girl, who was by now quite out of sight.

It was some time before the elder girl found them both, a little way out of the road, where Christian stood as if pleading with the younger girl, who stood with her arms crossed.

At the sight of her sister, the younger girl exclaimed, "Well, what do you think of your mad quest now? Are you ready to give it up? I met a man here who said that if you're looking for peace and safety, this is the stupidest road you could take. It's full of danger, fears, hunger, pain—"

"Don't forget death," the elder girl said dryly. "Frankly, this whole journey has looked pretty hopeless from the start. But we knew that before we set out. You've said as much yourself, more than once. Are you going to turn back now, at the first sign of difficulty?"

Her sister ignored her and continued, "We better turn aside to that mountain and the village of Morality."

"We'd better have drowned in the swamp than venture out there," the elder girl snapped, her patience at an end, then continued with emphasis, "This road leads to the Celestial City. What did you come here for, if you didn't care about getting there?"

Here Christian recovered her voice and put in, "No doubt this road is dangerous, but the one Worldly Wiseman proposed is impossible. My own father, at one time, thought to turn aside there, not seeing the necessity of the narrow path before us, and was nearly killed. If Evangelist had not come after us, surely we would have been crushed by the Law. Come, friend, and do listen to reason. If you fear to take this straight road with the King's blessing and promise of deliverance, how do you expect to make it on that steep, winding path that only brings a curse, and will only add to your burden?"

"Why should I be burdened at all? And why should I deny myself safety and comfort and happiness for the King, when I might live as a queen here, or care about the Celestial City, which is likely no more than a story, after all? You two can go about looking as dull and dreary as you please, but I mean to enjoy myself now."

At this response, Christian was filled with astonishment and wondered how she could have been so deceived regarding her companion's character.

"What did you come for, then?" the elder girl repeated furiously.

"I thought it sounded like a fine adventure, and one worth attempting for all your talk of the nice things ahead, but it's clear now that you'll die if you go that way."

"We'll die all the same if we don't. And I suppose it's better to die on the path to the Celestial City than on that mountain, or in Decadence or Desolation, or in any City of Destruction. If you want to go to your death there, you may, but don't expect us to come along."

Then I saw the younger girl turn back, though Christian tried hard to persuade her to stay, and the elder, after watching her a moment, came to Christian and urged her to hurry along to the gate.

They went but slowly, as Christian now found herself nearly undone by the grief of this latest loss, and assailed by doubts and fears which slowed her pace greatly, though she did all she could to combat them, calling to mind various verses by which she had comforted herself heretofore. Nevertheless, she was not now a very agreeable companion, and after a few sharp words, the girls walked on in silence. Christian's companion had no trouble keeping up with her and often found herself urging Christian forward, until at last they came to the gate. There, at last, it was the elder girl who went forward and knocked, inquiring of the man at the gate whether it was the way to the Celestial City and desiring entrance.

The gatekeeper, called Goodwill, pulled them both in quickly, and upon looking them over, immediately recognized Christian, who told him, in a few words, what had happened to her.

"I am sorry to hear it," Goodwill said gravely, "though I do not doubt there is a good purpose for your coming this way again."

"I thought," Christian wondered aloud, looking about her, "that there was only one gate."

"And so there is," Goodwill replied. "But you will find that it is never far from those who truly seek it, though they be at the ends of the earth. Hence why there is no excuse for those who try to come in another way." Perceiving that Christian looked somewhat uncertain, he asked, "Surely you did not doubt that you would be welcomed here?"

Christian sighed and looked down. "I have been out of the way for some time, and I hardly feel as though I belong here now."

"Yet you are here, and you still wear the clothes of a pilgrim," Goodwill observed. "Do you still carry the scroll you were given?"

Christian produced it at once and offered it to him for inspection.

"These things are sure tokens of your acceptance at the city to which you are going. You may, at any time, willfully cast them off and be a pilgrim no more, but they can never be taken from you by force, nor can you simply lose them by a moment of foolishness or weakness."

"How is it then," Christian asked, "that when I was last at the Interpreter's house, I saw a man in a cage, who despaired because he had no more hope of forgiveness?"

"I believe when you come there again, you will see that his case is much different than you remember."

Turning to Christian's companion, Goodwill said in a low voice, "I feel as though I have seen you before. Am I mistaken in thinking that you are the daughter of a woman named Hopeful?"

"That was my mother's name," came the quiet reply. "Did she truly come here, then?"

"Indeed she did, some years ago. I am afraid I cannot say what became of her afterwards, but you know that He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it. Do not fear, child, but have hope. It is likely that you will meet again, if you stay on this road. I am sure I need not tell you," he added, "how grieved she was to be parted from you, but she prayed that you would come after her in time."

The girl smiled and thanked him for his words, and with that, she and Christian set off to the Interpreter's house.


	3. The Interpreter's House

It was but a short distance from the gate to the Interpreter's house, and thus it was but a short time before the girls had been shown through the whole house, from the dusty room cleansed by water, signifying the heart cleansed by grace, to the man pouring oil into the fire even as another tried to put it out, to the man awaking in terror from his dream of the coming judgment. Only one room remained, and the girls now stood at the door, wondering what they would see there.

If the man in the cage was sad, he did not show it. He sat quite content at a little desk, poring over some papers by the flickering light of a single candle, and muttering to himself.

"Ha. Ha. I've done it."

"What have you done?" Christian asked.

"I've made my fortune. I've gained power and influence. I've secured my place in society. I am _free_."

"You are in a cage."

"Don't talk nonsense, girl. I'm a free man, bound by no law but my own."

The Interpreter here interposed to ask about the state of his soul.

"Don't talk nonsense," the man repeated sneeringly. "I've no time to talk about your childish superstitions. There was a time, when I was young, that I found myself influenced by such fears, and went to great lengths to be free of them, by following the straight, narrow path and avoiding such things that you call _sinful_ , but now I'm _free_ , and I mean to stay free."

"How did this come to pass?" asked the Interpreter.

"The road was hard from the beginning. At first I rejoiced in every victory, but in time, when I thought I should begin to see some reward for my labors, the road grew no better, but rather worse. I also saw others passing by the wayside, who gained more rewards with fewer sacrifices. And I found the companions I had been warned against to be most agreeable and sympathizing gentlemen, while those I had considered my friends had offended me in many things. Also, the entertainments I had decried so earnestly in my youth I found to be quite harmless and enjoyable. And by and by, I came to see how foolish it was to give up all I had and all my hopes for success in the world, for the hope of one to come, which I am not at all convinced of."

"But did you not come down this road to the cross? And did you not receive new clothes there, and other things besides?"

"I did. And I suppose they looked well enough at first, but I soon found there was nothing particularly special about them."

The Interpreter begged him to look again, and offered him the clothes and scroll and key he had evidently discarded, which seemed to glow pleasantly in the dim light, but the man threw them back with an expression of disgust. The Interpreter then went so far as to unlock the cage, but before the door had moved an inch, the man furiously grabbed hold of it and slammed it shut once more.

The Interpreter looked grave as he pronounced, " _God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through Him might be saved. He that believeth on Him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil_."

Seeing that the man remained wholly unaffected, the girls left the room in stunned silence, more deeply impressed by his wretched situation than anything they had witnessed heretofore.

"Truly does the hymn say, _'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved_ ," the Interpreter said. "Again and again, the Scriptures testify that our Lord is _ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness_ , and that He _resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble_. But this man has thrown off all fear and all restraint, and in his pride and rebellion, he has bound himself in a cage that none can open.

"And yet," he continued encouragingly, " _we are persuaded better things of you, and things that accompany salvation_. Though it may at times seem hard to see beyond present grief and trouble, to apply these truths to yourselves, remember, _There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus_ , and _perfect love casteth out fear_."

Before they parted, the Interpreter again encouraged them not to fear, "For," he said, "though the path is filled with trials and dangers, this section here, from the gate to the cross, is the safest, for the King will suffer no open assault on pilgrims before they have had opportunity to reach their destination, unless they are utterly determined to proceed no further."

The girls walked in silence for some time, both thinking on the things they had seen in the Interpreter's house. For a while, they went on quickly, but soon they began to grow weary once more.

"Is it much farther from here?" Christian's companion asked her at last.

"No," Christian replied. "It is just up that hill."

The other girl, perceiving that the hill was somewhat high and still a long way off, and that Christian was going as slowly as she was, suggested, "Then perhaps we might sit and rest here a little while."

When Christian did not answer, she went to her and urged her to sit down with her by the road, and offered her some bread from her bag.

"It seems to me," she said thoughtfully, "that we are now like Elijah, fleeing from Ahab and Jezebel. And you know that an angel appeared to him then, and bid him eat and drink and rest a while, lest he should faint on the way."

"What do you know about it?" Christian asked in surprise, not expecting anyone hailing from Desolation to speak of such things with understanding, much less respect.

"My mother once had such a book as you have," came the reply. "May I see it now?"

Christian offered it to her, and after a moment asked, "What happened to her?"

"She went on pilgrimage some years ago, and both the man at the gate and the Interpreter said that she came this way, but they could tell me no more. She would have taken us with her—I would have gone—but—"

Here her voice broke off and she began quickly searching the pages of the book, and as Christian looked carefully upon her companion, she began for the first time to see both her grief and the burden she carried.

"But here is some comfort," the girl continued with an attempt at cheer, " _Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted_. Doesn't that sound nice? And listen:

" _Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? ... Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord_."

Then she turned the pages once more and read slowly, " _And, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world_."

It was then that the girls opened their hearts to each other and became friends. After some time, they looked ahead and found that the cross looked much nearer than it had when they first stopped. And so with more hope than either had felt in a long time, they continued their pilgrimage together.


	4. Through the Valley

The girls came to the hill and to the foot of the cross in what seemed like no time at all. It was there that Christian found herself greatly refreshed and relieved, both by the memory of her initial deliverance from her burden of sin and guilt, and by the present assurance and encouragement she found there, to come boldly unto the throne of grace, to obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need, as one who was reconciled to God by the death of his Son, blessed with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ, chosen in Him before the foundation of the world to be holy and without blame before Him in love, adopted, accepted, and redeemed through His blood, according to the riches of His grace, to the praise of His glory.

As Christian rejoiced and gave thanks, it was some time before she remembered her companion. Then she looked and saw the girl, now dressed quite simply in the clothes of a pilgrim, but looking far happier than she ever had before, and by her two Shining Ones, who also beckoned to Christian.

"Now," said one with a smile, "you see your companion is no longer Hopeless, but Faithful, and a most suitable friend for a Christian."

Faithful, already speechless with joy and fairly bouncing with exuberance as she marveled at her deliverance and the gifts she had been given, was nearly overcome by this last pronouncement, and there was no doubt that she meant to live up to her name.

After a few more words of encouragement and exhortation, Christian and Faithful went their way down the path, sometimes talking, sometimes laughing, sometimes reading from their book, and sometimes singing songs of praise. In time, they came to the hill called Difficulty, where they found the road a stark and lonely one, with various obstacles and little encouragement, and just as the man in the cage had warned, if they happened to look down, they could see many simply going around the mountain with apparent ease. Yet there they found the truth of the Scripture, _Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up._ Thus they made good progress, helping and encouraging one another in turn, and taking only a brief rest in the Arbor of Ease they found halfway up the hill, and so they came to the top well before evening.

There they saw a sight which they agreed should have been sufficient inducement to make the journey, even alone, for before them stood a palace which surpassed all their expectations. Christian found that even her memories of the place could not compare to the reality before her, for the palace, like all things built by the Lord of the hill for the relief and security of pilgrims, was constantly under construction, while the things of the world were constantly growing worse and breaking down, so that year by year, the differences between the two were growing starker.

The only thing that might have given the girls pause was the pair of lions which stood by the road on either side of a narrow passage, but Christian remembered that they were chained, and Faithful reasoned that even if they were loose, they had not come so far only to die within sight of refuge. So they came to the house without fear and were welcomed in by four sisters by the names of Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who offered them rest and refreshment, both by good food and good conversation, and over the course of a few days showed them many wonders, regarding both things past and things to come, and equipped them with armor and weapons suitable for pilgrims passing through treacherous regions: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the gospel of peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which they were encouraged to use with all prayer and perseverance.

When at last Christian and Faithful were ready to continue on their pilgrimage, the sisters offered them some further provisions and accompanied them to the bottom of the hill, where they warned them about the dangers ahead.

"You must be ever watchful," said Discretion, "for this valley is filled with all sorts of traps and snares."

Prudence echoed her sister's warning: "Remember all that has passed, and the promises that lay before you, and do not stray from the path, but stand firm in the face of fear and discouragement, and be on guard against false promises of safety and pleasure elsewhere."

Piety urged them to pray at all times and meditate upon the Scriptures, and Charity urged them to walk together as much as possible. This advice seemed to serve them well in the first part of the valley, where Christian recalled a fierce battle with Apollyon, but which now seemed deceptively calm, as though their enemies lurking about saw it would be hard to prevail against two pilgrims, so long as they were traveling together by the light of day and forbearing one another in love, endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

Unfortunately, the day passed quickly, and as the girls came to the next part of the valley, dark clouds gathered and a thick darkness fell upon them, and there was such a confusion of noise that they could neither hear nor see each other, except by the occasional flashes of lightning. But now there also appeared other figures along the path, adding to their confusion, so that sometimes one ran ahead and the other lagged behind, and at last they gave up hope of finding each other and pressed on in solitude.

It was there that they heard a multitude of voices whispering in their ears. Some declared that the other girl was proud and disagreeable, that she secretly thought herself superior and despised her companion for her weakness, and would abandon her at the first opportunity, if she hadn't already, while others suggested that she was a nuisance and a hindrance, and ought to be given the slip before she brought her down with her. It came to a point where both girls were nearly half convinced that they should either betray or be betrayed by the other, but when they remembered all that had passed and considered what lay ahead, they were the more determined to hold on to what they knew was true, concerning both the things that were visible and invisible. Thus they slowly made their way through the valley, careful not to stray from the path into any of the traps or pitfalls surrounding them, and at daybreak rejoiced to find each other again.


	5. Out of the Darkness

As Christian and Faithful left the valley, they saw before them a land of fruitful fields and groves and streams, which was as bright and peaceful as the valley had been dark and perilous. Here the road grew broad, so that pilgrims could wander where they liked without going out of the way, whereas in the valley it had in many places seemed hardly wide enough for one to walk safely, with a deep ditch on one hand and thick mud on the other. Here Christian and Faithful also found signs encouraging them to help themselves to whatever they found, which they did gladly, seeing that the provisions they had been given at the palace were already spent, and in short time, they had gathered a fine breakfast.

"Well," Christian began once they sat down, "this is a pleasant change. How did you find the valley?"

"I expected it would be terribly lonely at first," Faithful answered, "but soon enough, I would have welcomed loneliness rather than the company I found."

"Did you meet anyone?"

"At first I heard only voices, whispering half-truths and whole lies full of doubt and discouragement, which are hardly worth repeating, but after some time, I met with a most dismal couple by the names of Melancholy and Commiseration, both of whom might have been better without the other. Melancholy was a pitiful, brooding man who had long ago made his home in the Valley of the Shadow of Death and now reigned as a sort of prince there. He could not conceive of a life beyond the valley and seemed to rather resent any attempt at consolation. His wife, who might have been a great comfort and help to him, only encouraged him in this attitude, listening and spurring on his complaints until he had quite worked himself up into a frenzy of despair."

"Did you have much conversation with them?"

"I did. At first I was glad to have their company, taking them for fellow pilgrims, and though I soon realized my mistake, they would not be easily shaken off, but persisted in trying to turn me out of the way. They spoke a great deal about the many hardships and dangers along this road, recalling how even the heroes of the faith, _who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned to flight the armies of the aliens_ , nevertheless _had trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea, moreover of bonds and imprisonment: being destitute, afflicted, tormented. And these all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise_ : and so, they argued, what hope did we have of faring any better than they? Thus they urged me quite forcefully to turn aside with them and come stay a while at their home."

"Doubtless if you had consented to go with them, you would have found yourself trapped there," Christian said. "How did you escape them?"

"I remembered what they had apparently forgotten, that all these things came to pass because God had provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect. Furthermore, I looked unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. He did not offer mere sympathy for our fallen state, but His own life for ours, and if He endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself, we can hardly complain about our own light afflictions. I remembered also the encouragement that came with the warning as the Lord promised, _In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world._ As I continued in this frame of mind, they soon found my company quite as disagreeable as I found theirs, and they went their way."

"That is most fortunate," Christian said. "I met with a similar attack on my way from Discontent and Resentment, who likewise said much about the hopeless prospect, not only of the valley, but the entire journey, and demanded what rewards I could claim for all my labor and sacrifice thus far, as I walked, by all appearances, alone through a dark and desolate wasteland. Thus they endeavored to persuade me that I was a victim of great injustice and would do well to abandon this road and seek peace and prosperity elsewhere."

"It seems to me," Faithful remarked, "that they were like the Sadducees, which say there is no resurrection, and thus could not see beyond the trials and temptations of this life, to the greater promises of the one to come."

"So they were," Christian agreed. "I found I could not deny the truth of the Scripture, _If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable_ , but I reminded them that the reward for all our labor and sacrifice is yet to come. Furthermore, I remembered the exhortation, _Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee._ When Discontent and Resentment saw it was so, they fled, for they could not long abide in His presence, and I went my way with great peace and good cheer, despite the darkness of the valley."

As Christian and Faithful concluded their discussion, they saw a short distance away a girl coming down the road, who, when she saw them, ran and greeted Faithful as an old friend.

"I never thought to meet you here," she exclaimed. "But I _am_ happy to see you."

"Indeed, it is a surprise," Faithful agreed.

"If you are going to the Celestial City, you are welcome to join us," Christian said. "We have hardly seen anyone on this road, and it will be good to have some company."

The girl accepted the invitation at once and introduced herself as Fairweather, formerly of Desolation.

"And what a difference there is between this land and that one," she said, looking around. "If I had known how many wonders lay along this road, I would have made the journey years ago."

"What made you decide to go on pilgrimage at last?" Christian asked.

"I heard much about the Celestial City while I was still at home, and saw that many of my neighbors had gone on pilgrimage already. I heard also of the coming judgment and saw that there was no hope for the city in which I dwelt, nor any help to be found from the surrounding regions. Furthermore, I found myself nearly incapacitated by great infirmities of both body and mind, and met with a man who assured me I could find relief on this road. At first I feared it would be quite impossible for me to make the journey, but at last I found my life in that country to be so unbearable that I could see no reason I should not seek a better one."

"It is well that you came," Christian said, "and evident that by grace you have come so far, for we are told that _God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work_ , and that _He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might He increaseth strength_ , so that _ye might be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; that ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God; strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness_."

"That is just what I want," Fairweather exclaimed, "and I see the truth of all these things already. I am glad that I came, and that I have found such excellent companions for the journey. _Happy is that people, that is in such a case: yea, happy is that people, whose God is the LORD._ "


	6. Fairweather

Once they had finished their breakfast, Fairweather was impatient to be off at once, but Christian desired her to wait a while and took out her book so they might read and be profited thereby.

"Do you read your book often?" Fairweather asked.

"Every day, and usually earlier when there is more light. Have you read it?"

"I am afraid I am not as familiar with it as I ought to be," Fairweather confessed with some embarrassment, "but my father had such a book, and I heard a great deal about it from him."

Now Christian gladly took the opportunity to expound unto her the way of God more perfectly, and opening to a familiar passage, began to read:

" _The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple.  
The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes.  
The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the LORD are true and righteous altogether._

"Surely," she continued, "when we think on these things and walk accordingly, we can say with all confidence, _Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer._ "

Fairweather heartily approved of these words and asked to see the book for herself. After a little searching, she found a passage she liked and thus read:

" _And it shall come to pass, if thou shalt hearken diligently unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to observe and to do all His commandments which I command thee this day, that the LORD thy God will set thee on high above all nations of the earth: And all these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God. Blessed shalt thou be in the city, and blessed shalt thou be in the field... Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out. The LORD shall cause thine enemies that rise up against thee to be smitten before thy face: they shall come out against thee one way, and flee before thee seven ways. The LORD shall command the blessing upon thee in thy storehouses, and in all that thou settest thine hand unto; and He shall bless thee in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee._ "

Then Faithful in her turn asked to see the book, and opening it read:

" _Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you._ "

This passage, with its sober reminder of the difficulties to come, seemed to cast a momentary shadow over the girls, but though it lowered their spirits somewhat, it nevertheless strengthened their resolve as they considered the road ahead. Thus after a few more words, they set out together, and for a time made good progress down the road, the morning being calm and bright and the good land stretching out before them as far as the eye could see.

"We are fortunate to have such good weather for our journey," Fairweather said brightly.

"Indeed," Faithful answered. "There is much to be thankful for here, in such a place of peace and prosperity, particularly in light of the trials we have met with heretofore. Though we had better be prepared, for I think I see some dark clouds ahead."

"So there are," Christian said. "Yet they are still a long way off. It may come to nothing, or we may find shelter before the rain starts. In any case, we have doubtless faced greater hardships."

Turning to Fairweather, she continued, "Tell us more of your journey here. How have you found the way thus far?"

"As I said, if I had known how it would be, I should have come years ago, for now I know the truth of the Scriptures, _The righteous cry, and the LORD heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles_ , and _the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed_. Though at first I feared the road would seem terribly narrow and lonely, I have met with great comfort and help, and very little trouble, so that on the whole, my most trying days on this path have been far better than my best times at home."

"And the place to which we are going will be better still," Christian said. "But have you met with no resistance on your way?"

"There were some from my town, and even my own family, who tried to persuade me to stay, and I was sorry to leave them, but I remembered the promise that for all we have left, we shall receive a hundredfold. All the same, I hope they will come along eventually, as they saw for themselves that I was not what I once was, from the moment I resolved to go on pilgrimage.

"Then I came to a few places where I was sure the road would be too arduous for me, and I met some who would have persuaded me to turn back, but in every place there was help to be found, as other pilgrims and servants of the Lord came along with words of wisdom and encouragement and walked with me until I found myself strong enough to go on alone. And now that I am here," she concluded, looking about her, "I feel as though all unpleasantness is past and nothing shall ever be able to trouble me again."

"You have been fortunate indeed," Faithful said, "and I hope we may find the road so peaceful and pleasant for some time before the next difficulty arises. For certainly trials are to be expected, as we are warned, _we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God_ , and that _we are appointed thereunto_ , as it is written, _If we suffer, we shall also reign with Him_."

"Yet we also ought to remember," Christian added, "that in everything, God shall supply all our needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus."

"Our _needs_ , yes," Faithful agreed, "but that is no guarantee that all our _wants_ will be satisfied."

"Perhaps ye have not, because ye ask not," Fairweather countered. "For surely you cannot deny that the Lord said, _If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it_."

"Certainly, provided we ask according to His will. Yet when the Apostle Paul asked that the thorn in his flesh be removed, he was told, _My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness_. Thus we cannot always count on being delivered from trials. At times we may simply have to trust that God is with us and will sustain us through them."

Fairweather, growing tired of this conversation, now ran ahead a little way, and Christian took the opportunity to draw her companion aside.

"One might think, from your words, that you meant to dissuade her from continuing with us."

"By no means," Faithful protested. "But did you hear how she answered? I wish we might always find this road so easy and agreeable, yet we are warned by both experience and the Word of God that it will often be quite the opposite. Surely as you have been on this road longer than I, you may attest to that. Besides, I know something of her already, and it seems to me we ought to warn her of the difficulties and disappointments, not to mention the dangers that lie before us now, lest she be discouraged later on."

At this, Christian began to wonder.

"I know all Scripture is profitable for doctrine, reproof, correction, and instruction in righteousness, but I did wonder a little at your choice of a passage this morning," she said. "But if your estimation of her is correct, it seems we would do well to temper her expectations."

As Faithful had predicted, before long the clouds drew near, and with them came a fine mist. Though it was so light that the girls hardly noticed at first, as it continued steadily throughout the day, it was not long before they were thoroughly soaked and as eager to find shelter as if they had been caught in a great downpour. At last they came upon a small cottage and, finding the door unlocked, let themselves inside.

They found the cottage simply furnished, but amply stocked with provisions, both of food and firewood. Now Christian and Faithful both gave thanks and set to work with tolerably good cheer, which only grew as they lit the lamps and got a fire blazing, but Fairweather was deeply disconcerted by the turn of events, and all her confidence and courage seemingly gone.

"Will this rain never end?" she cried.

"It may be over by tomorrow," Christian reasoned. "This sort of weather usually passes quickly, and doubtless such small inconveniences will ultimately make our journey more pleasant, as they remind us to be thankful for the many blessings we have received. I am sure we are all comfortable enough at present."

"True," Faithful agreed. "It's not so bad, and it might be a good deal worse. In any case, we must simply make the best of it."

Thus Christian and Faithful settled in as best as they could, setting the table and preparing supper, and both agreed it was as fine a meal as any they had been served at the palace. Once they had cleared away the dishes, they spread some mats and blankets in front of the fire, and after a time of study and prayer, went to sleep with great peace and contentment.

Yet Fairweather would not be so easily consoled, sitting by herself and only speaking to find fault with the size of the room, question how long the provisions would last, bemoan the lack of entertainment, and declare herself utterly exhausted in response to Christian's invitation to come join her and Faithful.

The next morning, the girls awoke to a steady rain, and Fairweather's mood only grew worse when she looked out the window and saw on the horizon clear skies and sunshine which never seemed to come any nearer.

"Why should we not go there now?" she asked. "We might come back to this path when the weather improves."

"It is only on this path that we have any assurance of safety," Christian said, "and if we willfully abandon it, we have no guarantee of being able to return to it. However tempting any other way may appear, we will find there nothing but danger and destruction, which might come upon us suddenly, for our adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."

"It just isn't fair!" Fairweather exclaimed in frustration.

"All the better for us," Christian said. "We know that all trials and afflictions are the natural consequences of the Fall and sin, and though at times they may seem severe, they are always far less than we deserve, as it is written, _He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities_. If we had what was fair, we certainly would not be safe and warm here, with plenty of food and a good fire, on the path that leads to the Celestial City. Furthermore, we can take comfort in knowing that _the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us._ No doubt if this is the extent of our sufferings, we should count ourselves most blessed indeed."

"What sort of blessing is this?" Fairweather demanded. "We might have arrived at our destination already, or at least at some more agreeable place, had we not been thus delayed."

At this, Christian looked troubled and after a moment said with some difficulty, "Beyond this land is the town of Vanity, and though you might think it an agreeable place, it is filled with far greater dangers and temptations than any we have faced heretofore. So while you may not understand it now, certainly God has a purpose for this delay and means it for our good, to stablish, strengthen, and settle us before we proceed further."

"But suppose," Fairweather continued, her voice taking on a tone of panic, "that this rain should continue for much longer, and we run out of provisions."

Faithful, who had been listening to this exchange in silence, now thought this was highly unlikely, but Christian only said, "Then the Lord will provide for us, even as He has done before. He is with us even now and knows our needs, and He will not leave us alone in the midst of any trial."

Now as she spoke, the rain suddenly ceased, and after a moment, the girls stepped outside and looked around. There was now a fresh scent in the air and a brilliant rainbow in the sky which reminded Christian and Faithful of all the promises they had received.

Yet Fairweather looked at the lingering clouds and the muddy road which would lead them through Vanity and persisted, "But how can we know the truth of any of these things, on a road so full of trouble and uncertainty?"

As Christian and Faithful looked at her in bewilderment, she continued, "What assurance do we have of any of these things?"

Then Christian, perceiving the extent of her confusion and seeing the necessity of laying again the foundation, after a little thought thus began, "First, we may see a general revelation of God's power and majesty in creation and by the testimony of our own conscience, as it is written, _For the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse_. Then we have countless testimonies found in this book, carefully preserved through the ages, including the revelation of God's will and character through the Law, as well as the wisdom and warnings of the patriarchs, prophets, kings, and saints who were eyewitnesses of His majesty. Furthermore, we are told, _We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your hearts_. Then we have the testimony not only of the life and death, but also the resurrection of Christ, and the testimony of the Spirit in us, convicting and transforming us by the renewing of our minds, that we may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

"Indeed," she continued, "have we not seen for ourselves that the Lord is good in all that He has done for us? _Do ye not yet understand, neither remember?_ We ought to consider Moses' warning, _Only take heed to thyself, and keep thy soul diligently, lest thou forget the things which thine eyes have seen, and lest they depart from thy heart all the days of thy life_ , which was repeated again in the letter to the Hebrews, _Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest at any time we should let them slip_ , and again to the church of Sardis, _Remember therefore how thou hast received and heard, and hold fast, and repent_."

But at last Fairweather would hear no more and ran as quickly as she could back in the direction from which they had come, going off the road onto a path marked Destruction, which seemed to go along smoothly for some distance, being lined with all kinds of pleasant and attractive trees and flowers and climbing upward until it overlooked all the surrounding land, before coming suddenly to a sharp cliff, then going down precariously along the side of the canyon below.

Now Christian and Faithful had run after Fairweather, and came as far as the place where the path branched off, and here they looked and saw a sign which read, _Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness, considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted_.Then seeing that Fairweather was already impossibly far ahead, nearly at the cliff, they stood at a loss, not wishing to abandon their companion, yet not daring to go any further lest they, too, should fall into danger and destruction.

Yet presently there came along a shepherd, a prophet, and a teacher, carrying rope and various equipment, and being acquainted with the situation, they assured the girls that they would do what they could to help.

"It is well that you stayed where you are," said the prophet, "for this path is a most treacherous one and has led to the death and ruin of many both older and wiser than yourselves, and few can venture there without catching some hurt."

"But you see," said the shepherd, "that we have been both trained and equipped by our Lord to go to such places in pursuit of the lost and wandering."

"If there is anything to be done, you may be sure that by the grace of God we will do it," concluded the teacher, and so they went their way.

As Christian and Faithful turned back, Christian gave a deep sigh and said, "Perhaps I should have been more sympathetic."

"Not at all," Faithful protested. "If anything, you did well to be so forthright. As I said, I by no means wished to dissuade her from the journey, and might have suffered her company a good deal farther, but I fear we would have been greatly hindered, only to come to the same result later, at perhaps a more inconvenient time."

"Were you well acquainted with her?" Christian asked.

"As she said, we were neighbors in Desolation," Faithful said, "and, being of a similar age, often companions. I fear the friendship, if you could call it that, did neither of us much good, for when the sun shone, I found her good cheer to be fairly oppressive, and when the storm clouds came, I could hardly help myself, much less offer her any assistance. She is the daughter of one Hypocrite."

After a moment, Christian said, "I cannot tell whether it is good or bad that you did not tell me so sooner, for I know something of the man, and perhaps I might have been more patient with her, knowing what an example she had. But then, I fear I may have just as likely been prejudiced against her.

"This Hypocrite often came to the City of Destruction. I never liked him much, but even less after I met Evangelist, for Hypocrite spoke much the same as he did, but with an altogether different spirit. Where Evangelist spoke gently, as a father exhorting his children, Hypocrite seemed to take pleasure in causing offense; where Evangelist was sorrowful at the coming destruction, Hypocrite was almost gleeful; where Evangelist was urgent, Hypocrite was careless; and where Evangelist was confident we would be accepted at the gate, Hypocrite was doubtful. He so deeply offended my father that it was a long time before my mother could persuade him to hear Evangelist. Indeed, he did not see the need to go on pilgrimage at all, but only consented to leave the city because he saw what great anxiety it caused my mother, and hoped a change of scenery might do her good."

"I ought to have spoken sooner," Faithful continued apologetically, "but I thought, seeing her on the road, that she had come through the gate just as we did, and met with the same grace that we did, and, expecting she would be much changed from when I knew her, I did not think it right to bring up the past unnecessarily. But now I rather wonder if she did not find some shortcut, for it seems hard to believe that she should have come so far, past such trials as we have met with and such wonders as we have seen, only to be turned aside by a passing shower."

"A shortcut seems equally unlikely," Christian remarked, "as we have taken the shortest way here by the straight path."

"You know what I mean. A way with less apparent difficulty."

At that, Christian could only shake her head.

"What assurance!" she repeated to herself in disbelief, then gasped.

"What's the matter?" Faithful inquired.

"Not much," came the reply, "only I feel like a fool for wasting so many words."

"I am sure your answer to her was perfectly correct and commendable for its use of Scripture and reason, and for what I believe was a good show of restraint on your part, for I think we both might have said a great deal more to her with far less grace."

"Indeed, and yet I might have saved a good deal of time, and answered both her question and ours, had I only thought to ask her to produce the scroll she had received at the cross," Christian said.

She now took her own scroll out of her pocket and opened it, finding therein great comfort and assurance indeed. After a moment, Faithful laughed and followed suit.

"Well," she said, "I suppose the next time we receive such precious gifts, we will remember to use them when the need arises."


	7. Going Forward

Now Christian and Faithful, after returning to the cottage and setting it in order, continued down the path together. At first they said little, being troubled both by what had lately passed and what still lay before them, but as they looked again to their scrolls, and around them at the land, still as bright and promising as when they had left the valley, they took heart and once more fell into conversation.

"I do wonder," Faithful began, "if it is truly possible that Fairweather might have bypassed the cross on her way here."

"It might be better for her if she did," Christian said. " _For_ , we are warned, _it is impossible for those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world to come, if they shall fall away, to renew them again unto repentance_. But if she has never truly seen, nor known the truth, and thus has not wholly rejected it, there is yet some hope that she may be brought to a right understanding of it and thus may be saved."

"There is also," Faithful ventured, "a verse which speaks of _a sin which is not unto death_ , which we are told to pray for, and though I am not entirely sure of the meaning, it does seem somewhat encouraging. I am sure she did _look_ and _sound_ like a pilgrim."

"So did her father, when he cared to," Christian replied, "and so do a great many who have never gone on pilgrimage, though they make a show of piety. It is a simple enough matter to look the part, to clean the outside of the cup, as it were, by setting aside certain sins, and changing one's clothes, and copying the habits and manners of the righteous. Yet we are told that _the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance_ , and _by their fruits ye shall know them_."

"Still, it is hard to come to an accurate judgment of such things on such a short acquaintance," Faithful said, "and I suppose it would do us little good to continue speculating in this case. It better becomes us to look to ourselves, and see that we are bringing forth fruits meet for repentance."

"Indeed, that would be the better way," said Christian. "And how do you propose we go about this?"

"First, we ought to meditate on the unchanging word and character of God, and on whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, of good report, virtuous, and praiseworthy, and then giving all diligence, we ought to add to faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge; and to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; and to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity."

"But how may we practically apply these principles to our lives?"

"Practically speaking, we ought to cease to do evil and learn to do well; to continue stedfastly in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers; to be swift to hear, slow to speak, and slow to wrath; to seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, and plead for the widow; to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God. But what are your thoughts on the matter? I hope you are not in doubt of me, that you take upon you to be a catechiser?"

Here Christian looked somewhat embarrassed.

"Forgive me, my friend, I meant no offense," she replied. "Only I am weary of such faithlessness as we have witnessed thus far, and it lifts my spirits to hear such sound speech and wholesome words, which I am sure go not out of feigned lips."

"I took no offense, my friend," Faithful replied gently. "I, too, am tired of empty words and them that deal treacherously. Doubtless there are too many who are not doers of the word, but hearers only. Thus we may plainly see the truth of the proverb, _Confidence in an unfaithful man in time of trouble is like a broken tooth, and a foot out of joint_ , as well as the necessity of the Spirit for the conviction of sin, to bring about repentance and true conversion."

"May I ask how you first came under this conviction?" Christian asked.

"My father, though he cared nothing for religion himself, nevertheless approved and even encouraged it, to some degree, in others, likely recognizing that those professing faith tended to be both more trusting and more trustworthy, so that he might cheat them without fear of being cheated himself. Thus he did not at first object to my mother taking an interest in such things, or to her teaching me what she had heard and read and seen for herself.

"So I learned that God was good, and I saw that all His ways were right and true, yet being a child, and being instructed by one whose understanding was still somewhat lacking, I was largely ignorant of two matters, the first being the holiness of God, and the second, the depth of my own sin and corruption. I considered the Law merely as the ideal we ought to strive for, and thus supposed it was enough that I tried to keep it. And though I had heard of the life and work of Jesus, I had then no understanding of how it applied to my own case.

"It was shortly after my mother left that I began to see the great danger I was in, as I considered such warnings as, _except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven_ , and the doom pronounced on the fearful, unbelieving, and liars, as well as murderers, idolaters, and the like. It was then I found my burden to be one I could not ignore or forget for even a moment, and the more I tried to ease myself of it by striving to keep the Law, the more condemned I found myself.

"But now," Faithful concluded with a smile, "as we consider the goodness and mercy of God, which both leads us to repentance and sets us free from our guilt by His atoning sacrifice, surely we can say, _Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift_."


	8. Vanity Fair

Now Christian and Faithful continued down the path all day, always expecting to see the town of Vanity with its great fair sprawling before them, but still the good land extended as far as the eye could see, and as the evening approached and the sun set, the only light they saw came from the moon and stars above, and the only sounds were the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, the chirping of crickets, the occasional cry of an owl, and their own footsteps.

"Is the town much farther ahead?" Faithful inquired.

"To tell the truth," Christian answered, "I thought we should have arrived already. It seemed but a short walk, perhaps half a day's journey at most, the last time I was here, and we were walking more slowly then, but now nothing is quite as I remember it."

"I suppose it is too much to hope that the town has been utterly destroyed, or removed out of our way," Faithful said, "but it is some comfort to know that we cannot be too close tonight. And yet, as we must certainly come to it sooner or later, I almost wish we were there already, that we might get past it as quickly as possible."

They found no other buildings, but as the weather was warm and the ground already dry, they now stopped and settled down quite comfortably on the grass.

Then Faithful, looking up, gave a contented sigh and continued, "But here is a pleasant sight, and one we are not likely to see in that town. _When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?_ "

"Indeed," said Christian, "to know that God is with us is far greater comfort than even the best land could offer. As it is written, _For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew Himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward Him._

"I am sure," she continued, "that should we, like so many others before us, lose our lives at the fair, it would be but a small sacrifice compared to the prize that lies before us, and indeed, it would only bring us to our destination all the sooner. Thus we, like the lepers before the camp of the Syrians, may say, _if they save us alive, we shall live; and if they kill us, we shall but die_. Even so, I cannot anticipate such a death as we are likely to come to there with joy, nor do I suppose it will do us any good to always expect the worst, and in doing so, to forget that we serve One who is able to deliver His servants from all evil. After all, it may be that there is still work for us to do here, and we may certainly trust that He will help us accomplish it."

So Christian and Faithful continued down the path a few more days, gathering their food from the fields and groves, sleeping under the open sky, committing themselves to prayer, and often reading from their book, until at last they came to the town.

Now the town of Vanity was filled with adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like, yet its citizens nevertheless liked to think of themselves as very nice, refined people, and the prevailing philosophy of late was one that championed tolerance, so that on this day, they did not much relish the idea of openly assaulting two girls, who did not look the least bit threatening. When the merchants of the fair called out for them to come and buy, Christian and Faithful looked to one another and replied with perfect truth and grace, "It all looks very nice, but it is far too costly for us."

Now one or two ventured to offer them credit, which they promptly declined.

"It would do little good," said Christian, "if we have no way to pay."

"You could always work off the debt," a merchant suggested.

"And you might come to regret your offer if we prove to be poor workers, or more trouble than we're worth," Faithful rejoined.

Thus they learned the truth of the proverbs, _A soft answer turneth away wrath_ , and _The ransom of a man's life are his riches: but the poor heareth not rebuke_ , for though some of the fair scorned them, and others pitied them, most took no more notice of them. So Christian and Faithful went quickly and quietly along, walking with such purpose that none who saw them thought to hinder then so long as it was day.

Yet evening seemed to come early to the town, and before Christian and Faithful were halfway through, the fair began to get truly underway, and they suddenly found themselves caught up in a wild dance that had just begun. They found they could hardly resist or break free and soon became dizzy and disoriented by the loud music and dazzling lights and constant push and pull of the crowd. They further found it nearly impossible to speak to anyone, even in the brief moments between songs, for the language of the people of that town was so different from their own that it would take some time to understand each other. The dance continued late into the night, until at last, as the first rays of sunlight began to appear on the horizon, they found themselves brought to what appeared to be a grand hotel, and taken to a room which seemed to be filled with all sorts of treasures.

Here Christian and Faithful once more tried to protest that they had no money, but their host only smiled and assured them that the room was free of charge, and taking his leave of them, bid them sleep well and help themselves to whatever they liked. Now they saw displayed samples of the finest wares the fair had to offer, including gold, silver, and jewels, silks and perfumes, rare delicacies and fine wines, but they hardly gave them a second glance before they went straight to the bed and collapsed in exhaustion.

They slept, but hardly rested, tossing and turning throughout the night, and hardly wishing to rise when morning came. When at last they awoke, it was past noon, and light flooded the room from a small window above.

"How did you sleep?" Faithful asked.

"Very poorly," Christian replied with a groan. "Last night as I fell asleep, I imagined this was the softest feather bed, but now I wonder if it is not filled with rocks."

"The entire room seems different, and not half so appealing, in the light of day," Faithful said.

She stood and walked about the room, which now looked rather cramped and dusty, and carefully examined each item before concluding there was nothing of value.

At last, she came to the door, and trying it, found it unlocked.

"Here is a dilemma which deserves some consideration," she said, "for it seems that we are free to leave, and certainly I would gladly do so at once, yet I feel as though we ought to stay a while, for as you said, there is much work to be done here, and no lack of opportunity to bring honor and glory to our Lord as lights shining in the darkness, and who can say but that we have been brought here for just that purpose? But what is your counsel?"

"I do believe that the Lord has given us this work," Christian agreed, "for the need here is certainly great, and as I slept, I thought I heard a voice, saying, _But the unbelieving Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made their minds evil affected against the brethren. Long time therefore abode they speaking boldly in the Lord, which gave testimony unto the word of His grace, and granted signs and wonders to be done by their hands._ Might He not do the same with us?"

Thus after they had prayed, they agreed that they should remain there some time.

"And yet I think," said Christian, "that we would do well to find other accommodations, if possible, for I do not think it at all wise to trust in the continued good will of our hosts. Doubtless for every favor they bestow, they will sooner or later expect some recompense, as we are warned, _He that hateth dissembleth with his lips, and layeth up deceit within him; when he speaketh fair, believe him not: for there are seven abominations in his heart_."

"I think the same," Faithful said, "and no doubt this is their purpose for bringing us here. The room may be free, but if we sample their wares and take a liking to them, we will be in great danger of selling ourselves very cheap in order to obtain more."

"Surely even in a place like this, there may be some honest work we may do, to provide for ourselves," Christian said.

Then calling the hotel manager, she thanked him for his hospitality and inquired whether he could recommend anything. The manager, evidently disappointed to find they had not so much as touched the fair's goods, was nevertheless pleased to hear they were of a mind to continue in the town for some time, and, after assuring them there was both honest work and lodgings to be had for nothing, he went at once to make the necessary arrangements.

Then Christian and Faithful prayed once more, " _LORD, it is nothing with thee to help, whether with many, or with them that have no power: help us, O LORD our God; for we rest on thee, and in thy name we go against this multitude. O LORD, thou art our God; let not man prevail against thee._ "


	9. Distraction and Dissipation

It was not long before the arrangements were made and Christian and Faithful were hired to keep the sheep of a nearby landowner and installed in a small cottage on the outskirts of the town. The landowner, Avarice, was a hard man who paid very little, and the cottage was thoroughly furnished with the most tempting wares the fair had to offer, but the girls resolved to touch none of them and live as simply as they could, and this resolution was helped by the fact that they now spent much of their time outdoors, and fairly removed from the general population of Vanity.

At first the girls considered this a most fortunate situation, but as day after day passed with unbroken regularity and undisturbed quiet that seemed to dull their senses and try their patience, and night after night they heard echoes of music, cheers, and laughter from the fair, they began to grow increasingly restless and discontented, and before long came to feel profoundly disappointed and discouraged.

"It seems strange to wish for trials or opposition," Faithful broke out at last, "strange that peace and safety should be more provoking than outright hostility, and certainly we have no cause to complain here, yet I almost feel anything would be preferable to this unnatural calm."

"I feel the same," Christian said with a sigh. "I must confess, before we came to the town, I thought myself prepared for anything. Had our greatest fears been realized, had we been tried as criminals and persecuted to our deaths, we should have been greatly honored to suffer thus for our Lord's sake, and our adversaries would have done us the greatest kindness by bringing us to our destination so quickly. Or had we simply been allowed to pass through and go on our way, we should have counted ourselves no less blessed. And suppose—you may laugh, if you like; it now seems quite ridiculous—but suppose we had found the town to be greatly altered from what it once was, and we had been welcomed by a people who were prepared to hear the Word gladly? Certainly that would be no credit to us, but a great honor all the same."

"Surely we know both how to be abased and how to abound," Faithful remarked, "but it seems an altogether different matter to thus languish in utter obscurity."

Christian sighed again and continued, "Thus I see my own vanity, and I find myself myself wondering more and more if I may not have been mistaken in thinking we were meant to remain here. When I first considered the matter, I expected to have no lack of opportunity, but now it seems we are neither progressing toward the Celestial City ourselves, nor does it appear likely that we will be the means of directing others there. I feel I must beg your forgiveness if I have by any means led you astray."

"Do not think of it," Faithful replied. "It was as much my will to stay as it was yours. If we have been misled, we are both at fault. Yet I am sure that we _are_ meant to be here, though we cannot yet tell for what purpose."

"Thus if we abandon this work, we would be in danger of fighting against the will of God," Christian concluded. "And besides, we would certainly offend the people of the town and give occasion to our adversaries to speak against us. Doubtless we might continue here a long time and do a great deal of good without attracting any notice, but if we should once slip, they would neither forgive nor forget, but most eagerly seize the opportunity to discredit our faith."

But now I saw that their work, and their continued abstinence from the fair's usual attractions, had not gone altogether unnoticed, for even as they spoke, there approached two fine-looking young gentlemen by the names of Distraction and Dissipation, who greatly desired to make their acquaintance. Once they had come, they bowed gallantly to the girls and, after a brief introduction, began to most courteously entreat them to come into town with them.

"You have been here for some weeks already, and yet we have hardly had a chance to get to know you," Distraction said.

"We have a great deal of work here," Christian began.

Dissipation at once broke in, "But you cannot always be working. Surely we might find someone to watch the sheep for an hour or two. Will you not at least come to church with us sometime?"

"Is there a church in town?" Christian asked.

"There are a great number of them," Distraction replied, "some built by pilgrims such as yourselves, and a few of our own creation. There is sure to be one that pleases you."

"And do you go regularly?" asked Faithful.

"I might, if you would be so kind as to join me," Dissipation answered with another bow.

Now Christian and Faithful both wondered if they might find any true faith in Vanity, and after a brief discussion agreed to go and see what sort of churches these might be. Thus they came to where Blind Faith and Dead Works converged into Cheap Grace Row, where there stood an imposing stone edifice with a number of arches and spires, and a group of proud, stately people decked in gold and jewels stood watching an elaborate robed procession entering in.

"Here we have a most ancient and venerable institution, and a great favorite with those hailing from Morality," Dissipation began. "It was once small and despised, but gained the favor of great kings and queens, and has since grown into a mighty power that has spread over all the earth and made many rich. Its leaders have been particularly commended in these parts for their dedication to guarding the Scriptures in order to keep them out of unworthy common hands."

"They have a great deal of rules," continued Distraction. "You will find that no one really keeps them all, but they are generally willing to overlook such things, for a price."

" _What shall it profit a man,_ " asked Christian, shaking her head, " _if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?_ "

Directly across the street was a much plainer, but no less imposing building with peeling white paint and a tall steeple, and there was a plain, sober, respectable-looking crowd milling about, talking amongst themselves and occasionally sending sharp glances at their more ostentatious neighbors.

"Here we have a people who once hazarded their freedoms and their very lives for conscience's sake," said Distraction, "speaking out against what they called the sinful excesses, empty rituals, and abuses of authority within the established church. But those days are long past. They have lived in peace and prosperity for many years, and have grown very comfortable, resting on their traditions and the commandments."

"They still tend to be among the stricter sort," Dissipation added, "and their members occasionally speak with great boldness against the wickedness of Vanity and those that dwell therein, but they are allowed to remain all the same, for they so often fall to fighting amongst themselves and against their neighbors, they are rather a source of amusement than a true threat to our way of life."

Christian sighed and said, " _Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment_."

Faithful continued, " _And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these._ "

Moving along, they saw beside the first building a somewhat smaller, more austere one which could not compare to the first for grandeur, though it boasted of a procession that was no less impressive. Beside it stood what appeared to be a small park with a number of statues, surrounded by a simple iron railing.

"Like the first institution," said Distraction, "this holds to many of the same creeds and customs, but they are somewhat more relaxed in their rules. On the whole, they do not trouble themselves overmuch with questions of morality, but their gospel is primarily a social one, setting forth that the main purpose of religion is to better the lives of individuals and society as a whole. Thus they are popular among the more charitable-minded and celebrated for their many good works."

" _The righteousness of the righteous shall not deliver him in the day of his transgression,_ " Faithful said gravely. " _If he trust to his own righteousness, and commit iniquity, all his righteousnesses shall not be remembered; but for his iniquity that he hath committed, he shall die for it._ "

Across the street stood yet another small castle, simply adorned and showing signs of wear, where a handful of very nice, pleasant-looking people gathered in a nice, orderly manner, saying little and doing even less.

"Here is a great favorite of ours," said Dissipation, "full of life and vitality, and most welcoming and accommodating to the people of our town. The teaching there is sure to be agreeable to everyone, for they love peace above all and are quick to censure anyone who dares speak against them as being disorderly and divisive."

Here Christian attempted to engage one or two in conversation on spiritual matters, but they hardly seemed to hear, much less understand her, until at last she exclaimed, " _Can these bones live?_ "

Next there was another white building, neither small nor large, and somewhat plain in appearance, with a fairly nondescript crowd gathered in front.

"Here is another people once known for their most extreme views," said Distraction, "not only holding to the primacy of Scripture, teaching the necessity of a new birth, and offering assurance of salvation, but also abstaining from many things they might have lawfully enjoyed, on the grounds that they were too worldly, or might have led others to sin. But since coming to our town, they have gained great wealth, and have left off such narrow notions of morality. Not to say that they are altogether indifferent now; they still have a good deal of enthusiasm, but it has cooled to a more agreeable degree. Now they are known for their moderation in all things."

Now neither Christian nor Faithful knew what to say to this, but sighed deeply and shook their heads, and their guides, seeing they were far from pleased with any of these churches, quickly assured them that there were many others which might better suit them. Indeed, they looked and saw dozens, if not hundreds more ahead, some large, some small, some old-fashioned, some modern, some ringing out with laughter and singing, some with mournful dirges, some as still and silent as death. But before their guides could hasten them along, they looked across the street and saw something which caught their attention.

They saw there not a park, as they had first supposed, but a cemetery, which extended out a way and ran alongside all the churches in the row, though it did not belong to any of them. Coming to the gate, they saw rows of small grave markers, and a few large and elaborate monuments. Now neither Distraction nor Dissipation cared to stay here long, far preferring mirth to mourning, and seeing that Christian and Faithful were determined to go in, hastily made their excuses to be off.

Here they walked up and down the rows, and as they looked carefully at the names recorded there, they found that they could not belong to residents of Vanity, but to pilgrims such as themselves. At last stopping before one of the newer monuments, they saw there written in large, flowing script, _In Memory of the Hopeful, the Valiant, the Steadfast, the Joyful, the Faithful and True Witnesses sent to speak the Words of Life_. Below, in smaller letters, they read, _If we had been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets._

Thus Christian and Faithful stood in silence for some time, wishing more than ever to be far from the town, until a chorus of church bells rang the hour, and they silently went out, back to the field and the work at hand.


	10. Ignorance and Want

The girls said little as they went about their work, being too overwhelmed by grief and confusion to offer much remark on anything that had passed. It was not until the day drew to a close and they came within sight of their cottage that they seemed to come to themselves once more, for while they were still a good way off, they saw that the door stood slightly ajar.

"Is it possible," Faithful ventured after a moment, "that we forgot to shut it before we left this morning?"

"I think not," Christian replied, "for even if one of us had forgotten, the other should have remembered. All the same, it could hardly have opened of its own accord."

Thus they stood for some time, watching for some sign of how they ought to proceed, but after a few minutes had passed and neither answers nor help seemed forthcoming, they concluded there was nothing to be done but to go and see for themselves.

They approached the cottage slowly, and as they came to the door, it was with some alarm that they heard a good deal of shuffling and whispering coming from inside. Yet as they continued to listen, they perceived that the voices belonged to a young boy and girl, who seemed to be rummaging through the cupboards and closets. Now as they looked to one another, it occurred to both girls that they had heretofore seen no children in town, a fact which both puzzled and relieved them.

Leaning toward her companion, Christian whispered, "I do not wish to be too hard upon poor children who, likely as not, have never been taught any better, yet we would do them no favor if we let them go without a warning."

To this Faithful agreed, and after a moment, they burst inside and took hold of the young malefactors, shutting the door securely behind them.

The struggle that ensued was fierce but brief. When the children saw they were caught and their hope of escape cut off, they seemed to resign themselves to their fate, following the girls into the kitchen and washing their hands and faces with only a halfhearted show of resistance before being seated on a little bench by the table. They were small and dirty, their clothes little more than rags, and they stared in wide-eyed silence as Christian lit the fire and put the kettle on and Faithful set before them a light supper of buttered bread with jam and tea, as though used to receiving far different treatment from those they had tried to rob. They hesitated just long enough for Christian to bless the food, before devouring the meal as though they had not eaten in days and expected it be taken away at any moment.

After a little questioning, the girls learned that the boy was Ignorance and the girl was Want. They could say nothing of their parents, but Ignorance haunted the more respectable parts of town, including the town hall, courthouse, and local university, where materialists and magicians met to discuss new ideas, while Want lived with her sisters, Shame and Desperation, on the outskirts of the fair.

Coming to the point, Christian looked sternly upon them and asked, "Do you know that it is wrong to steal?"

Want stared. It was evident the idea had never occurred to her. Her eyes darted from Christian to Faithful, as though searching for some confirmation of these words, and finding it, settled on her hands, which began to fidget nervously with the napkin in her lap. Yet Ignorance crossed his arms and scowled defiantly.

"Says who?" he demanded.

"God tells us so through His Word," Christian answered, taking out her book and opening it to a certain place. " _Ye shall not steal, neither deal falsely, neither lie one to another._ See for yourself, right here."

She held the book out to them, with a finger on the verse, but Ignorance scarcely glanced at it before pushing it away.

"Can't read!" he exclaimed proudly.

Christian looked surprised, but quickly composed herself and said, "We can teach you, then."

Want looked up hesitantly, hope plainly written on her face, but Ignorance only shrugged carelessly.

"I do not doubt you are a gifted teacher," Faithful whispered. "But you see this Ignorance is willful, and I fear it is beyond even your power to reach him. Yet surely we might do something for the girl."

Christian sighed but nodded and rose to open the door. Ignorance seemed to consider his options for a moment, then took the last slice of bread and ran out into the growing darkness without a word of thanks. Yet Want remained seated, as though frozen in place.

Christian and Faithful quickly cleared the table before taking their seats on either side of the distressed child, who now stammered out a broken apology, which the girls accepted at once. Then seeing that she, unlike her companion, was eager to learn and most anxious to please her hosts, they invited her to come again in the morning, and as soon as the sheep had been tended to, they would have lessons in the field, a proposal which delighted the child beyond words.

The following day, Want arrived a little after daybreak, looking as though she had hardly slept for excitement. She followed the girls closely as they went about their work and proved to be a great help as she offered to fetch and carry whatever they needed.

At last they found a quiet place at the edge of the field, by the woods, where Christian and Faithful spread a blanket and a small picnic, and after they had eaten, they opened their book and began at the beginning.

Want sat between them and listened in rapt silence as they read of the Creation and the Fall. She stared in amazement at the description of the garden in all its perfection and the generous offer to freely eat of every tree but one, gasped in horror and outrage at the deception of the serpent and the disobedience of man, trembled at the judgment, marveled at the promise, and broke forth with a string of questions the moment the girls stopped reading, which they endeavored to answer as best as they could.

At last, Christian assured her that she would understand more as they went on, an answer which seemed to satisfy the child for the time being. Then she opened her bag and took out a pencil and a sheaf of papers she had lined and bound into a little book, which had a letter written at the top of every page, and for some time they made a game of filling the pages with words from the text, sometimes adding little sketches in the margins, and sometimes pausing to walk about the field and see to the sheep. Thus they spent the morning and much of the afternoon, until the sun began to set and the time came for the sheep to be brought in.

Then the child ran home, but she returned the next day, and the next. When she did not appear the fourth day, Christian and Faithful were deeply worried, and as they sat down to supper that evening, they earnestly prayed that she might be safe and well.

Suddenly they heard a nervous tapping at the door, and opening it found two girls about their own age, whom they guessed at once to be Want's sisters. Though Shame appeared flushed and Desperation pale, and both were tired, careworn, and dirty, they had plainly done their best to look presentable, and carried themselves as proudly as the finest ladies in Vanity Fair. Yet as they entered the room, they glanced about with a telling look of apprehension, and Christian and Faithful saw at once that their stiffness and reserve came more from fear than arrogance or conceit. Thus they endeavored by word and deed to put their guests at ease, quickly setting two more places at the table and inviting them to sit.

Once the food had been served and the tea poured, the sisters looked to one another as though unsure of how to begin. At last Shame said, "We understand that our sister came to visit you. We hope she did not cause you any trouble."

"On the contrary," returned Christian, "we were very pleased to make her acquaintance, and quite enjoyed her company. She has been a great help to us, and a most diligent pupil. We hope she is well?"

It was some time before the sisters could respond, so taken aback were they by the unexpected praise. For a long moment they studied the girls' faces as though searching for any hint of guile or dissimulation. At last Shame answered that all was well, in a tone which plainly said she could hardly believe it herself.

"We hope you did not miss her at home," said Faithful. "We were under the impression that you knew where she was, but perhaps we should have asked."

"No," answered Desperation. "We did not want her. That is to say—we would rather know she was not in town."

"Certainly it is no place for children," Faithful sympathized. "We would be happy to keep her with us during the day."

"We would be very grateful to you," said Shame, "if you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Not at all," Christian assured her.

After a few more words, the sisters thanked the girls for their hospitality and went their way, and the next morning, Christian and Faithful found Want waiting eagerly at their usual place. Thus she became a constant presence both in the field and at the cottage, and seemed to thrive under the girls' daily instruction and care.


	11. Unexpected Guests

"Is it not strange," mused Faithful one evening, "what a great change a few weeks may bring about?"

"Strange, indeed," Christian agreed. "One would hardly think it was the same child, she looks so unlike herself."

Day after day, the girls continued to oversee Want's education, instructing her not only in reading and writing, history, and arithmetic, but also in many practical matters of which she was sadly ignorant. Thus it often came to pass in the heat of the day, that one would remain with the sheep while the other took Want to the cottage for a lesson in cooking, spinning, sewing, housekeeping, gardening, or some such work, which both profited her and helped them.

Furthermore, as the girls learned more about the child's situation, they took care every day to provide her with a good breakfast, and to send her home well before dark with a decent supper, including at least a few baked apples or potatoes and a loaf of bread for her sisters. Though their circumstances were by no means prosperous and such generosity was often a sacrifice, they remembered the proverb, _Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith_ , and thus contented themselves with their own modest meals.

Now after one such meal, they sat together outside their cottage door, making use of what little sunlight remained, Faithful with a work basket filled with scraps of cloth and thread, mending a pair of slippers Want had found, and Christian with a mortar and pestle, preparing ink for the next day's lesson.

"She is undoubtedly a good deal tidier now than when we first met," Faithful continued, "she does not seem half so shy or frightened, and it is quite remarkable how quickly her lessons are progressing. And yet I sometimes think I see a troubled look in her eyes."

"Surely we can guess the cause of it," said Christian. "I would be very sorry to think that she had been with us for so long, without her conscience being stirred a time or two."

"The solution seems equally plain," Faithful said with a sigh, "and I wish it were in our power to enact it at once. Yet I know that even if we could bring her directly to the gate, it could very well do more harm than good if she was not properly prepared to take the journey."

"The thought has crossed my mind," said Christian. "As accommodating as she is, I am sure she would readily oblige us if we asked her to go, but I would not have her do so by compulsion, knowing she may just as easily be persuaded to fall away, and thus her latter end would be worse than her beginning."

"So it seems," Faithful concluded, "there is little we can do but continue to lay the foundations. But I do hope when the time comes, if we cannot accompany her ourselves, that we might at least send her with some good companions."

"It would be well if we could persuade her sisters to go," said Christian, "though how we might accomplish that is beyond me."

The sisters' behavior of late had quite puzzled Christian and Faithful. Though after their first meeting, they had parted on seemingly good terms, when they chanced to meet them again on the road, among such companions as Envy and Strife, their manners had resumed their former coldness, so that they hardly seemed to notice them and turned away without a word.

While the girls sat silently pondering the matter, they looked up and saw, as if in answer to their unspoken prayer, none other than Shame and Desperation approaching.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Shame asked, "Is our sister still here?"

"No," Christian replied in surprise, "she left some time ago."

"Perhaps she stopped to talk to someone," Faithful suggested.

"Perhaps," agreed Desperation. "We have only just come from the field ourselves, so it is possible that we simply missed her."

As they did not seem overly troubled, and the sun was not yet fully set, Christian and Faithful set their own concerns aside and, putting their work away, asked the sisters to stay for tea, an invitation which they accepted cordially enough.

Thus in short order, the lamps were lit and a fire was started, as the evening had brought with it a sudden chill and Christian and Faithful perceived that the sisters were but poorly dressed. Soon they were all comfortably seated by the fire with tea and freshly baked scones, and for some time Christian and Faithful carried the conversation while the sisters looked about the neat but simply furnished room with open curiosity and no little confusion.

"I should have thought you would have more furniture," Shame said at last, taking in the plain chairs, rug, and tea set before them. "Was the place not prepared before you came?"

"It was," said Christian, "but we found that much of what was here, silk tapestries and fine china and such, did not suit us very well, so we put it away."

"Why," Desperation exclaimed incredulously, "is your religion really so strict as to deny you the use of such things?"

"On the contrary," Faithful answered, " _All things are lawful to us, but not all things are expedient._ We might lawfully make use of many things, which are not wrong in themselves, but must be careful that in doing so, we do not break up our own peace and comfort, or lead others into temptation. As it is, such fine things may look very nice, but besides seeming quite out of place in a simple cottage, they are not always practical, and often more trouble than they are worth. The tapestries alone were a great bother to clean properly, and seemed to be in constant danger of catching fire."

"Besides," concluded Christian, "we are told that _a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth_ , and that we ought to set our affection on things above, and thus we find that we have more than enough."

Shame still appeared skeptical and persisted, "But I suppose you _do_ believe that we are hopelessly lost because we do not follow your ways?"

"I am sure," Christian said carefully, "that _there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not_ , _but the Scripture hath concluded all under sin_ , and if the Lord should mark iniquities, who could stand? _For our God is a consuming fire_ , and _we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags_ , and _by the works of the law shall no flesh be justified_. Thus we should all be hopelessly lost if it were not for _the grace of God that bringeth salvation_ , _through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus: whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in His blood, to declare His righteousness for the remission of sins_."

At this, the sisters appeared thoroughly astonished and seemed to question what strange new doctrine this was.

"Are you quite sure of these things?" asked Desperation.

"We are," Christian and Faithful said at once.

The promptness and certainty of this reply only seemed to increase the sisters' perplexity, and for some time could say nothing in response. At last Shame sighed and said with some reluctance, "Well, I suppose you _are_ different than the others."

Seeing the girls' confusion, Desperation added, "She means the other church people. I do not suppose you have seen them."

"But we have," Christian said, and told them, in a few words, of their visit to Cheap Grace.

Now the sisters looked to one another, and seeing that they had a rare advantage over Christian and Faithful, quickly lost all reserve in their eagerness to impart their knowledge.

Shame shook her head and began, "If you had only gone a little further, you would have soon realized that those are the best churches in town. Though they send us away empty more often than not, I would rather take my chances there than down the road, for beyond the cemetery are the circuses."

Her sister nodded. "There is one by the name of Moralist, for instance, a famous lawyer trained by the great Legality himself, who is hailed as the greatest preacher in these parts, known for bringing saints and sinners alike to bitter tears and agonies of grief and terror, going on as he does about wrath and torment. There are many in town who have quaked under his words, so that the most hardened wretches have resolved to mend their ways and the most confident professors of religion have utterly lost hope."

"This should not be," said Christian, picking up her book, "when _whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the Scriptures might have hope_ , _as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast_."

"Well, perhaps _you_ might," conceded Desperation, "but you will be hard pressed to find any among them that hold strictly to that book. In truth, they think it absurd to speak of righteousness as some do, as a thing which may be imputed or credited from one to another, without strict obedience to the commandments."

"Yet that is the very foundation of our faith," said Christian, "as we are told, _Abraham believed God, and it was imputed unto him for righteousness_ , and _it was not written for his sake alone, that it was imputed to him; but for us also, to whom it shall be imputed, if we believe on Him that raised up Jesus our Lord from the dead; who was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification._ If they thus deny it, it is no wonder that they are left hopeless."

"And no wonder," added Faithful, "that such preaching does not bring about true revival which brings forth good fruit, but rather leaves behind only scorched earth and hearts that are more hardened than ever against the truth. For notwithstanding all the people's good intentions and resolutions, if there is no work of grace in their hearts, the fires of their zeal will quickly be extinguished, and after their initial fears are past, they will be ready enough to dismiss the whole matter as a passing fancy and return to their former ways with all the more boldness."

"So they do," said Shame, "for they are such a people that can do nothing by halves. After they have been most zealous for the church, and sacrificed a great deal, and incurred the scorn of many, only to find that they have nothing to show for their pains, they can hardly slip out quietly, and thus admit that they were taken in, but must redeem themselves in their neighbors' eyes by making a clean break, and leading the charge in all the things they once condemned."

"Are the other churches much the same?" asked Christian.

"More or less," answered Desperation. "Across the street is one named Presumption, whose services look much quite similar, though his followers are more inclined to break out in laughter than weeping. He calls himself an apostle, and boasts great power and knowledge of _things which have been kept secret from the foundation of the world_ , and claims to be doing a great work for the Lord, though I cannot see that he really accomplishes anything, for that area is as bad as any in the town, and rather worse, for you can hardly pass by it without feeling as though something is waiting to jump out at you."

"The people there claim to see a devil under every rock," said Shame, "but will not see the ones right before them. Sometimes the Lord of the Fair himself will go in among them and set them in an uproar, and sometimes he will fall before the so-called apostle and act as though he is utterly under his power, so that all the people hold him in the highest esteem."

"If that is the case," said Christian with a shudder, "the people are greatly deceived, and in great danger, for the Lord of the Fair _lieth in wait secretly as a lion in his den_ , and _walketh about, seeking whom he may devour_ , and Presumption himself is deceived if he thinks he has any true power against him."

"Even so," said Desperation, "he holds a great deal of sway over the town, and has gathered to himself many disciples, who imitate him in all things. Lately, he has all but adopted Want's young friend, and I cannot say I am sorry that we have not seen him for some time."

They went on talking in this way for some time, and Christian and Faithful learned a great deal more than they ever wished to know about the ways of Vanity. At first the sisters spoke lightly as they recounted example after example of _lasciviousness, lusts, excess of wine, revellings, banquetings, and abominable idolatries_ for which the town was known, but as the night wore on, they grew sad, and often sighed and lamented that it should be so. Here Christian and Faithful found many opportunities to judge righteously and speak the truth in love, and the sisters, far from resenting their words, generally seemed to accept them as very good counsel and worthy of further consideration. At last they took their leave, and Christian and Faithful, as tired as they were, yet stayed up a little longer to pray for the town and the people who dwelt there, that they might _see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed._

So it was that the girls went to bed very late, and certainly would have overslept had they not been awoken around daybreak by a loud knocking at the door.

Supposing it to be Want, they dressed in haste and were quite astonished when they opened the door and found Avarice scowling down upon them.

"Look here," he blustered. "I don't know what you're doing, but don't think I haven't noticed."

At this, the girls were both puzzled and alarmed, and looked to one another, wondering what sort of greeting this might be. After a moment, they stepped aside and asked Avarice if he would like to come in.

He did so, and for some time stood in silence, looking distractedly about the room. He plainly looked like a man of great wealth, who was yet incapable of enjoying it. He was thin and pale, and wore a dark suit with gold buttons, which must have looked very fine once, but was now frayed and patched, and his gray hair was somewhat disheveled. At last he seemed to come to himself and asked, "What have you done with the place?"

Then Christian, not wishing to offend him, thanked him very graciously for his care in preparing the cottage for them and explained that it was simply too much. She then offered to return what they did not use, while Faithful opened the closet door and took out one of many large boxes for his inspection. Avarice considered a moment, then waved his hand.

"Keep it, sell it, burn it for all I care," he said gruffly. "It makes no difference to me. Only don't expect to get any more for free."

Then as if remembering his purpose for coming, he began, "All the years I've lived here, I've been plagued by urchins begging outside my door, and now all of a sudden, they're nowhere to be found. I suppose you've had something to do with that."

The girls stared, not knowing how to answer.

"And I suppose," he continued with some heat, "you think I ought to sell all I have and give to the poor."

"I think, sir, it is hardly our place to dictate how you spend your own money," Christian replied.

Avarice opened his mouth, then quickly shut it as he considered her words. He looked again at the room, then at the closet, and finally back at the girls, as if trying to work out a particularly difficult riddle.

"Well," he said at last, "I suppose if you've decided to take it upon yourselves to provide for them, and it keeps them from pestering me, I can hardly complain."

With that, he turned and left without another word.

"How true is the proverb," Christian said after he had gone, " _Better is little with the fear of the LORD than great treasure and trouble therewith._ I am sure I would not wish to be in his place, if he were a hundred times as wealthy as he is now."

"Nor I," said Faithful. "But do you suppose, from what he said, that there are other children in town?"

"I suppose there must be," Christian replied. "We will have to ask Want about it."


	12. The School Opens

After such a beginning to their morning, Christian and Faithful were left with very little time to prepare for the day. Thus they hastily made their beds and swept the hearth, read only a few verses from their book, and went without breakfast altogether as they found to their dismay that the only food left in the house was two small loaves of bread, which they packed along with the rest of their things before hurrying out the door.

Even so, they arrived at their destination a good deal later than usual and were at once relieved and concerned when they did not find Want waiting for them, but they hardly had time to wonder at her absence before they saw her come running as if something were chasing her.

"Whatever is the matter?" Christian exclaimed, just as Faithful asked, "Is all well?"

"Nothing," Want answered quickly, "and yes, I think so, only—"

She paused to catch her breath, then continued, "I'm sorry I'm so late, but I have had _such_ a morning. First my sisters were unwell, and it was some time before I felt comfortable leaving them."

"I hope it was nothing serious," Christian said with concern. "It must have come on very suddenly, for I am sure sure we did not notice anything amiss last night."

"Did you see them?" Want asked in surprise. "They did not say. I only knew that they came home early, and did not go out again as they usually do, but seemed troubled, and stayed up talking for some time. Then this morning they said that they could not sleep, and felt as though a great weight were upon them."

"Did they say anything else?" asked Faithful.

"Not much," Want replied, "only they asked about our lessons, and seemed pleased when I told them what we were reading, and said to run along, and they would be well enough soon.

"Then as I was leaving, I met Ignorance, and he asked where I had been and what I had been doing, and why I did not join him as I used to. I tried to tell him about our lessons, but he was not at all interested, and said he thought it strange that I would rather work than play, and at last he went away laughing.

"And then just before I came here, I met the man who owns all this."

Here her eyes grew wide, and the girls thought it no wonder she had come running as she did.

"At first I was terribly frightened, for he always looks so dreadful, but he hardly seemed to notice me at first, for he was sitting on the fence and seemed to be having some debate with himself. Then when he saw me, he only smiled a little and asked my name and where I was going, and when I told him, he asked many more questions until he seemed to make his mind up and went his way."

Now Christian and Faithful both felt that these were hopeful tidings, though they could not yet tell to what they might lead. Thus they said nothing, but went about their work cheerfully and finished in good time.

As they were about to sit down for their lesson, Faithful looked and saw, some distance away, a child dressed in rags leaning on the fence, watching them.

"Who is that over there?" she asked Want.

"Her name is Unwanted," the child replied.

"How unfortunate," Faithful murmured.

"Unfortunate is her brother," Want answered. "And her sisters are Abandoned and Forsaken."

Sure enough, they saw behind the girl a cluster of younger children peeking out shyly. They learned that all these were the offspring of a couple by the names of Profligate and Wanton, very notable denizens of the Fair, much given to wine, proud, and insatiable, who did not like to keep at home and rather resented the responsibilities of family life, but preferred to be idle, wandering from house to house, and often stirring up mischief.

"Are there many other children in town?" asked Christian.

Want nodded.

"Where are they now?" asked Faithful. "Do they go to school?"

"No," came the answer, "there was a school once, but it has long been abandoned, for the teachers hated teaching as much as the students hated learning, so it was decided that it would be best for all involved to leave the children to themselves and let them do as they please until they are older."

Now Christian hardly thought it worth asking how they children chose to spend their time, not doubting that _a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame_. Instead she asked, "Do you think they would like to come have lessons as well?"

"Could they?" asked Want.

"Run along and bring them," said Christian, "as many as are willing to come."

The child ran off at once, stopping only briefly to speak with the children by the fence.

The girls looked to one another and to the scanty meal before them.

"I do wish we had brought more," Faithful said with a sigh, "but I suppose it is too late now. At least we can offer them something."

"Yes, and more than food," said Christian. "We have living water and the bread of life, and we can offer it with kind words, which the poor things doubtless seldom hear."

"So we can," agreed Faithful, and seeing that the children yet lingered by the fence, motioned for them to come. They hesitated a moment, then scrambled one after the other over the fence and came near to where the girls sat. They looked and listened in awed silence as the girls introduced themselves and nodded eagerly when asked if they would like to join their school.

"We have been reading a few different books," began Faithful, "but I am sure we can get you caught up before long. First there is one about the beginning of the world and its early history, and another about a woman of virtue who became the mother of many kings, and we have just begun one written by a man named Luke, which tells of _good tidings of great joy_."

The children nodded.

"Yes, we know," said the boy, "Want told us."

Now as Christian took the bread from her bag, the children did not seem the least bit discouraged by the small size of the loaves, but stared as though a great feast had been set before them, and would not hear the girls' apologies for the plainness of the meal.

"Oh no," said one of the younger girls. "You make very good bread."

"How do you know?" asked Christian.

"Want brought us some," answered her twin.

"I suppose that explains where she has been in the evenings," Faithful whispered to Christian.

Presently, Want returned with another small group, two boys and a girl, whom she introduced as the children of Indulgence and Neglect. These were very nicely dressed and by all appearances well fed, and yet they looked no happier than the children in rags, whom the greeted with no trace of scorn or condescension. The youngest of the family, Want explained in a whisper, was thoroughly spoiled and would not come, but the others had been quite pleased by the invitation, and now bowed and curtsied to the girls with the utmost politeness.

Now the eldest of the three presented Christian with a basket, which she opened to find a few small fish.

"I caught them myself," he said proudly.

The girls thanked him for his gift, and gave thanks again once all the children were seated, and again when they had broken and distributed the food and found to their surprise that there was more than enough for everyone.

Now when at last they were ready to begin their lesson, the girls found that the children seemed to know a great deal already and had many questions, which they spent much of the morning endeavoring to answer. At first they had some difficulty keeping order, as the children were not used to following rules and did not hesitate to interrupt and talk over one another, but when they saw that the girls were as firm as they were gentle, they settled down and listened with such respect and attentiveness as would have astonished any of the adults from Vanity, who were used to seeing children only as intolerable nuisances.

They stayed all day long and went their way in the evening with many thanks, and returned the next day, bringing their friends with them, some of whom in turn told their families. And though all who heard did not come, and all who came did not stay, by and by it came to pass that everyone that was in distress, and everyone that was in debt, and everyone that was discontented, gathered themselves unto them.

Yet even as the girls rejoiced at the growth of their little school, they remembered that _he that is upright in the way is abomination to the wicked_ , and it was not without some concern that they began to hear of talk in the town.


	13. Envy

Now I awoke and found, to my surprise and disappointment, that I was back in my own living room, where the fire had burned low, my tea had gone cold, and my book had slipped off my lap onto the floor. In vain did I try to go back to sleep, but found that the vision which had seemed so clear was already fading away, and felt as though I had been watching these events unfold through a door which was now shut, and would remain so for some time.

In the following days, I found myself too preoccupied with the cares of this world, the demands of work and home and various social obligations, to spend much time contemplating dreams, but even so, in some quiet moments, the thought of all I had seen would come to mind, and I often wondered if I would ever learn what became of the pilgrims and their school.

At last there came a day when I finished my usual work early. Having no pressing engagements and being overcome by a weariness more of the mind than the body, I seized the opportunity to settle down once more with my book. For some time I read, until the light began to fade, my thoughts began to wander, and my eyes grew heavy. Thus I fell asleep and awoke once more in the familiar field on the outskirts of Vanity, just as school was about to begin.

I found the scene much different than I remembered, for summer had gone, and winter was fast approaching. It had evidently been a long, hot summer, which left much of the land brown and parched, but as the winds blew across the open fields and the occasional cloud cast a shadow there, it was far more pleasant in the field than in town.

Now I saw that Christian and Faithful both looked a little tired, as their growing responsibilities had filled their days from morning to night, but they had pressed on patiently and were now beginning to see the firstfruits of a good harvest. Their little garden had brought forth abundantly, so they had no need to appeal to Avarice for aid, and after the initial growth of their school, it had just as suddenly diminished in size, as a number of families, upon hearing their words, had decided to leave Vanity.

As long as the heat of summer remained, the townspeople had been content to sleep away the days, unconcerned about any activities which did not directly affect them, and quite willing for the children to go where they pleased, so long as they would leave them in peace, but now the chill autumn winds stirred them up, and the unexpected departure of several prominent families alarmed them, and they began to feel that there was something unsettling in the quiet mornings and the absence of the usual interruptions and annoyances.

As inquiries were made and word of the pilgrims' school and their dangerous notions spread through Vanity, parents feared to lose their children just at the age when they began to be of use and interest to them, shopkeepers bemoaned the loss of business, and all the people were determined to take action before it was too late.

Thus it came to pass this particular morning that as Christian and Faithful were about to begin their lesson, they looked up and saw they had an audience. Some distance away by the fence were three girls about their own age, all magnificently dressed in the latest fashions of the fair, who stood staring and whispering among themselves, and laughing as though they shared a great joke. Not far from them stood a few others from the town, but these had plainly come to be mere spectators rather than active participants in what was to come.

"How strange," said one of the three to her companions, loud enough for all to hear, "that those who claim to be heirs of a great king, on their way to the Celestial City, should have to earn their living by keeping sheep and teaching ragamuffins and runaways to read."

"Strange indeed," answered another, "but what would you expect from such backward folk? They say to their way is not only the best, but the _only_ way to live, and they prove it by living as paupers."

"How perfectly ridiculous," said the first, "but you know they also claim to be saints. For my part, I like a bit of religion well enough, but I do think some people go too far with such sacrifice and self-denial."

Taking care not to return their stares, Faithful leaned toward Christian and whispered, "I feel as though I have heard their voices before, but I cannot tell where."

Christian nodded. "We met them in town just the other week, but their speech was quite different then. You remember how they spoke of the sinfulness of the fair, and how interested they seemed in our manner of life. I wondered then if they might also be persuaded to go on pilgrimage before long, but I suppose I should have known better than to put any trust in their words."

Upon hearing this, Want, who had been helping the girls in silence, now looked over and shook her head. "They are All-Talk and All-Ways, also called Double-Tongued and Double-Minded, and both changeable as the wind and unstable as water."

"In that case," said Faithful, "it is no wonder they seemed so agreeable. They might have agreed with anything we had to say, so long as they thought we only spoke of one way to be saved, and not the only way."

"Well," said Christian, "now we know how it really is, and I suppose if they really are all talk, we should think no more of their insults than their praises."

So the three continued to stare and whisper, but as they did not address Christian or Faithful directly, the girls did their best to ignore them and begin their class as usual. At first they had some difficulty keeping the attention of the children, who were clearly overawed by such guests and, becoming increasing distracted and self-conscious, stammered and faltered and made a number of mistakes, but at last, by their continued composure and encouragement, they gained some semblance of control and restored order to the school. But by this time, the onlookers had grown bored and angry at being thus ignored, and now the third of the group stepped forward.

Now I saw that this was Envy, and that All-Talk and All-Ways, for all their bold words, both deferred to her. She stood tall and proud as a queen, and was undoubtedly very beautiful, but _out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh_ , and as she had no natural delicacy of speech or manner, nor modesty in dress, it could not long be concealed that her beauty was only _that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel_.

"Well," she called out, "what do you say? Here you are, poor and plain and insignificant, with neither family nor friends, working day and night just to earn your daily bread, and here we are, ready to offer you all your hearts' desires. You might have honor and glory and power, and be admired and courted by all, and live in pleasure and ease all your days. Will you be so foolish as to reject our friendship, and throw away every comfort this world has to offer? Will you build your castles in the air when you might have your choice of those on the ground?"

Christian and Faithful stiffened when they heard her, for they recognized her voice as one they had heard in the valley, when she had stalked them as prey and dogged their steps, every moment seeking to drive them toward doubt and despair.

"Take care how you answer her," warned Faithful, as Christian turned to meet her gaze. "Remember, _If a wise man contendeth with a foolish man, whether he rage or laugh, there is no rest._ "

"You might have said, _the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God_ ," answered Christian. "But I take your meaning."

Yet they saw that they could not remain silent, for though the children, as residents of Vanity, had no very fixed principles, they had a great deal of affection and loyalty toward the girls, who had been the first to treat them with any kindness, and were now deeply outraged on their behalf, and began shouting back at Envy.

So Faithful took charge of the children while Christian stood and faced the girls.

"Can we help you with something?" she asked pointedly.

The question set the girls howling with laughter.

"How could you help us?" Envy asked scornfully. "We are _rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing_."

"Perhaps," said Christian, "but even the richest king who ever lived wrote that, _There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing: there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches._ "

"And what riches could you possibly have to boast of?" asked Envy.

"We serve _the God of heaven and earth_ ," answered Christian, " _the King of kings, and Lord of lords_ , who called us despite our poverty and chose us despite our weakness, who freely forgave our debts and purchased us with His own blood so that we might be reconciled to Him and enjoy an inheritance among all them which are sanctified, who now calls to everyone, _Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand._ "

By this time a fairly sizable crowd had gathered, and a number of them now looked deeply offended, while others were only puzzled, and a few seemed intrigued and drew nearer to better see and hear.

"Yes, that's all very nice," All-Talk said contemptuously, as Envy silently seethed at being thus rebuffed, "but I am sure that we know what that book says as well as you. You need not concern yourselves with the state of our souls, simply because we are not so strict in our ways as you are, for we know the truth, and worship God just as well as you."

"Do you?" asked Christian. "Then who do you say He is?"

" _God is love_ ," All-Talk replied, in a tone that was far from loving. "I believe your book says that."

"So it does," agreed Christian. "It is written in the first letter of the Apostle John."

For a moment the three looked quite pleased with themselves, as though they had gained an easy victory. But their pleasure was short-lived as she continued, "Yet John also writes, in the same letter, _God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with Him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth_. Again, he writes, _He that saith, I know Him, and keepeth not His commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him_ , and again, _let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth_ , and _the truth shall make you free._ "

" _What is truth?_ " asked All-Ways with a forced air of indifference, "and who are you to say?"

Before Christian could respond, Envy continued, "I suppose you think yourselves better than us, with all your fine morals and lofty ideals."

"We never said so," answered Christian.

"No, of _course_ not," Envy said, "but we all know you think so all the same."

"Take care," Faithful warned in a low voice, "for she is determined to misunderstand us."

Christian stood in silence a moment and seemed to consider her words carefully. When she spoke again, she looked past Envy and instead addressed the crowd that had gathered around.

"You know that _we have wronged no man, we have corrupted no man, we have defrauded no man._ _For our exhortation was not of deceit, nor of uncleanness, nor in guile: but as we were allowed of God to be put in trust with the gospel, even so we speak; not as pleasing men, but God, which trieth our hearts._ And _we behaved not ourselves disorderly among you; neither did we eat any man's bread for nought; but wrought with labor and travail night and day, that we might not be chargeable to any of you_. But if we have taken anything from anyone, we will restore it fourfold."

She waited, but the crowd remained silent, as many were now ashamed, having no evil thing to say of the girls, and the rest, though filled with indignation, seemed afraid to do anything while it was yet day. Thus they slowly began to disperse until only the three remained, and finally Envy too went away in a rage, with All-Talk and All-Ways following close behind. Only then did Christian and Faithful recall that they had been in the middle of a lesson before they were interrupted.

"Oh!" exclaimed one of the younger children suddenly. "Do you mean to say, then, that the things in that book are all true, and these were real people we are learning about?"

The girls stared in amazement for a moment, then looking about at the other children saw that a number of them had plainly been wondering the same thing, though they had not asked.

One of the boys in the back, who had been sitting with his arms crossed all morning, now stood and called out, "My parents said it's nothing but stories."

The girls were spared from having to reply immediately when his neighbor spoke up.

"Sit down, Contrary," he ordered crossly. "Your father's an ogre and your mother's a harpy, and everyone knows you never listen to them anyway, so I don't see why you should start now."

For a moment the girls feared that a fight might break out, as Contrary seemed to consider whether he was now obliged to defend his family's honor, but finding himself unable to counter the other boy's logic, at last he sat down sheepishly and awaited the girls' response.

So they opened their book to a section they had formerly passed over, supposing the children would not care much about long lists of strange-sounding names, and setting aside the other lessons they had planned, they devoted the rest of the morning to a thorough study of genealogies. The children listened in growing wonder as they realized they had not merely been reading interesting moral tales, but true histories, and stayed late into the afternoon asking questions about all they had read in the past weeks, as if beginning to understand for the first time.

It was nearly evening before Christian and Faithful walked back to their cottage, at once thoroughly exhausted and yet deeply satisfied as they recounted the events of the day.

"I did wonder," said Faithful, "why we seemed to be making so little progress these past few weeks, how the Scriptures could speak so plainly, and we could explain so thoroughly, and they could seem to understand, yet not understand. Who would have thought the answer would be so simple?"

"I suppose we should not be too surprised," said Christian, "when even the disciples did not fully understand the Lord's words, though they had followed Him for three years. And doubtless it was even so with us for a time."

"It is well, then," said Faithful, "that we, like they, received the Spirit of truth, who will guide us into all truth."

"And well," added Christian, "that He will teach us all things, and bring all things to our remembrance, so the that we can take no thought how or what we shall speak, but trust it shall be given us in the same hour. I now see this truth more clearly than ever, for I am sure I have hardly known what to think, much less say, since I first saw our guests this morning."

"I hope we might see no more of them," said Faithful, "though that hardly seems likely."

Now Christian and Faithful came to their door just as the sun was beginning to set and the sounds of the fair began to rise from the town, and found to their surprise, a note written in large and hurried letters, _If thou save not thy life to night, to morrow thou shalt be slain._


	14. Escape from Vanity

The girls stood staring at the note for some time before Christian tore it from the door and pulled Faithful inside.

"Doubtless Envy is behind this," she said as she bolted the door and looked warily out the window, as though half expecting to see unfriendly figures already approaching close behind. "I thought when I first saw her that she should like nothing better than to see us destroyed, and now I know for a certainty. The prince of the power of the air may be Lord of the Fair, but she is doubtless the Lady, and has reigned here for many ages. Did she not persuade Cain to kill his brother? And was she not the counselor of Jezebel, who killed Naboth for his vineyard?"

"Perhaps if we had no more than that, she would leave us alone," said Faithful, "for anyone can see that she has availed herself of all the worldly comforts the Fair has to offer, and thus accounts herself rich, and can hardly envy our little cottage. But we possess the true riches of _an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven_ , besides _love, joy, peace_ , and countless other blessings we may now enjoy, which she can neither buy nor steal and is not willing to gain by lawful means. Thus she, like the sluggard, _desireth, and hath nothing_. But now what will we do?"

"What _can_ we do?" Christian looked out again toward the town, where the lights of the Fair seemed to shine more brightly than usual, and the music seemed at once more alluring and more menacing, then shook her head. "I have wished for some time to be gone from this place, and yet I do not like the thought of flying by night at the first sign of danger."

"Nor I," said Faithful, "and yet I would hardly say that we should be out of danger at once, for we are still on the wrong side of the town, and must pass through the Fair one way or another. Now the question seems to be whether we ought to set out at once and meet the danger head on, or wait here until it comes to us.

"For my part," she continued, "I do not wish to fly, if by any means we might be of more use here, and yet I hardly know what more we could do. We have not hidden anything, but have plainly testified of the truth, and doubtless your words this morning are even now the talk of the town. Though I fear we have succeeded in persuading but few, if so many who have gone before us have failed to bring about a complete reformation, what more can we expect to accomplish?"

"All this is true," agreed Christian, "and I do not wish to throw our lives away without cause, or suppose we would have been given this warning if we were not meant to even consider it."

Yet she still seemed undecided, and remained where she was, again looking over the note in her hand.

Before she could say another word, there came a hurried knocking at the door. The sound made both girls jump, but their fears were just as quickly calmed as they heard Want's voice.

"Is anyone there?" she called softly.

Christian opened the door and found the child breathless and pale, and evidently dressed for a journey, with her sisters close behind her, looking more deeply distressed than the girls had ever seen them before. Shame stood as if in shock, while Desperation looked about frantically, murmuring to herself, "We must go. We cannot stay. But where will we go?"

Even in the fading light, the girls saw that Want herself looked weary and troubled, yet determined, as though holding on to a hope she could not yet see.

"I _am_ glad you're still here," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Most of the others have left already, and rest are just setting out."

She looked back at her sisters before turning again to the girls.

"Please, won't you try to talk some sense into them?" she asked. "I tried, but they won't listen to me."

Seeing their work plainly before them, Christian urged the sisters to come inside while Faithful lit the lamps and set out what remained of their food.

"It isn't working," Shame said at last, once they were all seated. Seeing Christian and Faithful's confusion, she went on, "We tried, we really did, but it just isn't working."

"What do you mean? What have you done?" asked Christian.

"After we last met," said Desperation, "we did begin to seriously consider what we talked about. Anyone can see that your ways are right, whatever people may say, and that you are both a good deal happier than we are, so we resolved that we should break off our old habits, and _live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world_ , as you do. But it is simply impossible. The harder we try, the more miserable we find ourselves, and now our case is ten times worse than when we started, for we have heard rumors that our city will soon be destroyed in the coming judgment."

"But what have you done?" Christian repeated. "You see it is no good to simply try to clean yourselves up here. If you would find safety, you must go on pilgrimage to the Celestial City, and to do that, you must first go through the gate."

"Yes, we know," said Shame, "we've heard, and we do hope to reach that City one way or another, but—" She looked helplessly at her clothes, which now appeared dirtier and more ragged than ever. "—we simply can't go to the gate like this."

"You must," Christian insisted. "You will never be able to cease from sin in your own strength, and even if it were possible, you would still have to answer for all that is past. It is only through the gate that you will find both mercy and the power to persevere until the end."

"But, perhaps—" began Desperation.

Seeing that the light outside was nearly gone, Faithful shook her head and said in a low voice, "Our time grows short. If we cannot make them understand the futility of such false hopes soon, it may be too late for any of us."

Christian nodded and thought a moment before taking out her book. Looking again to the sisters, she said, "You would do well to seek refuge at the Celestial City, but if you wish to be welcomed in once you arrive and not taken for thieves and robbers, you must take care how you get there, for that place has the strictest requirements for entry, and is more heavily guarded than any earthly fortress to ensure that _there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie: but they which are written in the Lamb's book of life._ Will you hear some of those requirements?"

Seeing that the sisters made no objection, Christian gestured for Want to sit by her, and opening the book, directed her to read aloud from the Law.

Thus she haltingly read the prohibitions against idols and taking the LORD's name in vain and the commandments to remember the sabbath and honor one's parents, while her sisters stared in confusion, which was not lessened as Christian explained the meaning of the words. Their confusion only grew as she read the commandments against murder, adultery, theft, and bearing false witness. By the time she had come to _Thou shalt not covet_ , they appeared thoroughly bewildered.

"But no one in town keeps all those laws," Shame exclaimed.

"True," said Christian. "There is hardly a person alive who has not broken them all at one time or another. Even if anyone could claim to keep them all perfectly, we are told elsewhere that _the LORD searcheth all hearts, and understandeth all the imaginations of the thoughts_ , that He _will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts_ , and _shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing_ , and furthermore, _whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all_. _As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one:_ _For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God_ , and _the wages of sin is death_."

Here she paused, and for a long moment, all the world seemed to be holding its breath. Outside, the crickets fell silent, the birds stopped their singing, and the sheep raised their heads with one accord and stood as though listening intently to their Shepherd's voice. Even the noise of the fair seemed to die down, as though its people suddenly heard the voice of the Judge pronouncing their doom.

Inside the cottage, Christian and Faithful considered the words which no longer had any power to condemn them, and gave thanks that they had been delivered _from so great a death_ , from _the power of darkness_ , and _the wrath to come_. Yet at the same moment, they watched as their guests grew pale and seemed to shrink into themselves, evidently wishing to run away or disappear, yet unable to move as the words weighed heavily upon them and threatened to overwhelm them. Not wishing to prolong their anxiety, Faithful broke the silence.

" _But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord_."

The words seemed to have an immediate effect, as the sisters sat up once more and looked from one girl to the other, no less confused but recognizing that all was not lost and ready to cling to whatever hope they had to offer.

Faithful continued, "We are told that _God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us_ , and again, _Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins._ Now, _if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised Him from the dead, thou shalt be saved_."

Christian concluded, "So you see, He is the gate, and He alone can grant you entrance to the place you are going, for, _If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness._ "

Now it happened that as they spoke, they saw a burst of light out the kitchen window, facing not the town but the open field, and saw the gate shining in the distance. At the same moment, Christian and Faithful saw the ground beneath their feet briefly illuminated, and a straight, narrow path leading out their front door and directly into the heart of Vanity. Thus finding the sisters' objections and excuses entirely overcome, and their own path made plain before them, Christian and Faithful saw fit to offer some last words of warning and encouragement before urging their guests to go at once and see for themselves whether they had spoken the truth.

This advice they quickly heeded, as Desperation was the first out the door, and Shame followed close behind, until Want alone remained. Then I saw Christian and Faithful exchange a look, and after giving the child a final embrace, they offered her their book as a parting gift. This she accepted with many thanks and a few tears, and then she too ran out into the night, toward the shining wicket gate.

The girls stood watching a moment until she was out of sight, then looked to their own path ahead.

"Well," Christian said at last, "I suppose it is time we were gone."


	15. Revisiting the Valley

Now I saw the girls go quickly, and not without some trepidation, as they entered the town and attempted to pass through the Fair a second time, bracing themselves for all manner of attack. Yet on their arrival, they were surprised to find that, though the lights continued to shine and echoes of music lingered in the air, the Fair now stood largely abandoned, with only a handful of people lounging about here and there, most of whom were either too overcome by drink, too cowardly, or too absorbed in their own business to do much more than make some coarse jests at the girls' expense as they passed, if they noticed them at all.

As Christian and Faithful went along pondering the reason for this, they came upon one such idler, an old woman by the name of Talebearer, whom they had often seen in the company of Envy, and who now sat rocking by the door of her house, calling to all who ventured near, "Come in, come in, and hear the latest news."

Seeing the girls approaching, she did not seem to recognize them, but called out, "Where are you going in such a hurry? Come rest yourselves a while, and let us have a nice talk."

Yet the girls remembered that _The words of a talebearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly_ , and so they did not at once reply, but continued on their way as though they had not heard. When she continued to urge them, Christian only answered as they passed, "I beg your pardon, but we haven't the time."

Now they found that the woman was not so old and infirm as she appeared, and that she would not be easily put off, for they had not gone far when she sprang from her seat and ran to walk alongside them, and began at once to tell them of all that had happened that day. Thus they learned that while they had been considering their options and speaking with their guests, the people of Vanity had also been making plans.

Upon her return to town, Envy had wasted no time rousing people from their sleep and calling them to assemble in the city square. She had enlisted Talebearer to serve as her messenger, along with Ignorance and Prejudice, and as they went about repeating Christian's words, with a number of exaggerations, it was not long before all the people of Vanity were up in arms and demanding something be done about the pernicious renegades who had reviled their leaders, corrupted their children, and threatened to incite riot and rebellion everywhere they went.

Now the girls had kept silent, seeing it would do little good to give her any sort of answer, but here Faithful interrupted to demand what she had thought would come of her words, and whether she could have slept with a clear conscience had mischief befallen them as a result. Now the woman seemed at once to comprehend her mistake. Yet they received no satisfactory answer, but found her as one _who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death_ , as the next moment she laughingly protested that she had meant no harm, that it was all in fun, and after all, they had evidently managed to escape well enough.

The girls quickened their pace as she went on to describe the assembly, which had been divided into two parties. The first was led by Presumption, who called the pilgrims old-fashioned and narrow-minded, and thoroughly denounced them as disturbers of the peace, enemies of liberty, and general nuisances, for being too strict and unyielding in their convictions, for standing in judgment of what he called the equitable principles and harmless practices on which the Fair was established, for interfering with the usual business of the Fair, and for attempting to impose upon the people a number of unnecessary restraints and laws most provoking to carnal minds.

Next to speak was Superstition, who condemned the pilgrims as irreligious heretics, who neither respected the laws of the land, nor conformed to the laws of the established church, as they cast off its rightful authority and instead presumed to interpret the Scriptures according to their own notions, and sought to overturn ancient traditions which had been held as sacred by many, and set aside a number of outward ordinances, without which, he argued, it was impossible to be saved.

Distraction and Dissipation had been there as well, in the company of two sisters by the names of Charm and Clamor, to whom they were lately betrothed, and had testified in support of all these accusations, before adding one of their own, that of what they called the girls' appalling discourtesy in dismissing their suits.

At last, Envy had stood with a record of those who had, at the girls' counsel, left the town in search of the Celestial City, as well as those suspected of soon setting out on pilgrimage. As she read their names in tones of the utmost scorn and contempt, Talebearer had stood and set the crowd laughing with accounts of their many notable sins, which she related to the girls with an air of conspiratorial intimacy, as if expecting that they too would think it quite absurd that such hopeless reprobates should ever think of receiving pardon, much less honor and glory and eternal life.

At best, said the more tolerant among the people, the young pilgrims were only poor, naive children, too young to understand and appreciate the ways of the world, who ought to be borne with until they could be persuaded otherwise by experience. Yet they were quickly overruled by others who argued that children must not be allowed to lecture their elders, but ought to be brought into subjection by whatever means necessary.

Thus they devised a plan to ambush the girls, by dividing into two groups and taking a wide route around the main road and the cottage so that they might close in upon it from behind, and thus cut off the girls' escape. But now I saw that they had been mistaken in supposing that Christian and Faithful would attempt to run away from the town, and thus they had passed undetected directly through the middle of the two groups.

Furthermore, Talebearer reported that the people had fallen to fighting amongst themselves before the assembly had adjourned, and as it was not in their nature to make peace, it was some time before they settled down enough to set out, and doubtless still more time before their patience came to an end and they stormed the cottage only to find it empty.

As Talebearer concluded her story, she waited eagerly to hear what the girls would say, to catch some hasty word or sharp rebuke which she might carry back to the people of Vanity. Yet she received no satisfaction as the girls remained silent, and as they came to the end of the town, she peevishly took her leave of them, muttering all the while that she had only wished to help them, but if they were so ungrateful, she would not trouble them anymore.

Now I saw there still remained some danger, for the light of the sun was utterly gone, and the light of the moon hidden by thick clouds, and with the darkness had come an icy wind which bit at the girls' faces and numbed their hands and feet. Furthermore, it had been some time since they had properly rested, and though their last conversation with the sisters and its immediate results had lifted their spirits and given them new energy, the encounter with Talebearer had left them drained and thoroughly weary.

Even so, as they watched her turn back toward her home, they sighed with relief and gave thanks for their deliverance from Vanity, saying, " _Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will joy in the God of my salvation._ "

"As cold and dark as it may be," said Christian, "we will not begin to ask, _What is the cause that the former days were better than these?_ or become as those Israelites who lusted after meat in the wilderness, who despised the manna from heaven which they gathered freely, but longed for _the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick_ of Egypt, where they had endured great trials and afflictions."

"Then we should be miserable indeed," said Faithful. "No, though we may have wished for fairer prospects, we will not now be so foolish as to envy the wicked, the blind and deaf who remain in Vanity, and thus forget all that is past, and what yet awaits both them and us."

So they started bravely down the path and for some time walked in darkness. Now their spirits being somewhat depressed and their minds occupied with the particulars of their journey, they did not have much conversation during this time, but now and then, one would begin a song of praise, and the other would offer a word of encouragement, and together they would pray for the courage and strength to persevere, and as they did, they found that their clothes seemed to grow warmer and more suited to the weather. Tired as they were, their progress was slow, but they continued straight ahead all the night with hardly a stop, and then rested by turns, so that one always stood watch lest anyone from the town should overtake them.

Now when they supposed it should be dawn, the darkness did not lessen, but the air grew colder and the wind stronger, and on the wind they thought they heard echoes of voices some distance behind them and drawing nearer.

"I suppose," said Faithful, "we ought to be thankful for this darkness, if by any chance it might now conceal us from our enemies. For I suppose it is too much to hope for that these are friends come out after us."

"Even if they are," said Christian, "we would do well to exercise caution until we know more about them. It puts me in mind of the valley we passed through at the beginning of our journey. Do you recall the voices you heard then?"

"I do," Faithful said with a shudder not from the cold, "but must we speak of that? You may think it very foolish, and no doubt you would be right, but I would rather not think of such things just now."

"Nor would I," said Christian, "and yet I think it might do us good all the same, for though the foes we met there are fearsome adversaries, I do not believe they are likely to strike again so long as we are alert and watchful. But let us think on a happier time, and one which was no less profitable. Do you remember our time at the palace?"

"I do," Faithful answered with far more cheer, "and I think I can guess what you are thinking of. Is it the story of Little-Faith? And do you suppose we may now be near the place where he was robbed?"

"It is," said Christian, "and I cannot tell, but I was thinking that we now have at least two advantages over him. For you remember that he was walking alone, that is to say, he did not see the need for fellowship, but supposed he should do well enough by himself, and he slept by the road called Dead Man's Lane, where he ought to have known he was in danger."

"It was a sad mistake," said Faithful, "and one which reflects very poorly on his judgment. Indeed, at first hearing, there seems to be no accounting for it, for I now wonder if I should dare to walk, much less sleep by such a place alone.

"And yet," she continued after a moment's thought, "I suppose there may be a good deal to the story we have not heard, for he may have been young, and ignorant of the danger, and very likely the day appeared fair and bright so that he was not as careful as he ought to have been. And as he was said to come from the town called Sincere, so, I believe, was his mistake, so that as unwise as he was, he was not then guilty of any great or presumptuous sin."

"This may well be the case," said Christian. "And in any case, doubtless it is only by the grace of God that we have thus far been spared from such calamity, for I daresay we too have made many foolish mistakes since we began our journey, which we should be sorry to hear repeated as a warning to other pilgrims. Yet it is well that we may now learn from his, that we might not repeat them."

"Do you remember," asked Faithful, "if he had any armor?"

"Doubtless he did," answered Christian, "for such armor as we have is given to all pilgrims, and without it he certainly would have been killed, but I suppose he had not tried it, and made but little use of it, or he would have fared better."

"And doubtless he would have fared better afterward," added Faithful, "had he thought more often of the gifts he had received, of the promise and assurance of present and future righteousness and peace and acceptance with God. Thus he might have found great comfort, and I am sure would have made a full recovery from the wounds he suffered from Guilt, Mistrust, and Faint-Heart."

"Now that I think of it," said Christian, "I believe the adversaries he met with were some of the same that we met in the valley. But we will not speak of that, if you would rather not."

"No," said Faithful, "I do believe you are right, that such conversation would now be profitable for both of us, for it is one thing to speak generally of parables and proverbs, but if we hope to receive any benefit from them, we must proceed to apply the lessons to ourselves. And I can plainly see, even in this darkness, that you have something to say on the matter, so if it might do either of us any good, I am willing enough to listen."

"It has been some time on my mind," admitted Christian, "though it was easy enough to set aside while there was work to be done. Yet now in this darkness, it seems we can no longer ignore our enemies, for if we do not prepare ourselves, they will see their advantage and come upon us suddenly."

They walked a few moments in silence before she began again, "Doubtless one of the voices there belonged to Envy, but I found that the most forceful and persistent of them all was that of Guilt. He went along whispering a thousand accusations regarding my conduct both before and since I became a pilgrim, until I thought I should be utterly undone."

"Why, what did he say?" asked Faithful.

"Only what I know to be true myself. You may not say so, but I aware enough of my own weakness to know that I have often been impatient and unkind, and that I am not so loving, or joyful, or peaceful as I ought to be. And here I believe Envy spoke, listing off a number of others who had gone on pilgrimage, who seemed to conquer themselves and triumphed with far greater ease over sins and weaknesses which yet troubled me. In short, they said I had not grieved deeply nor repented thoroughly enough of my sin, and as we are told that we must love the Lord with all we are, I must seek to do better, or else this must be evidence that I did not love Him at all."

"I heard them say much the same," said Faithful, "but I am sure I need not tell you that they are both liars, and children of the father of lies. What is more, Guilt is a servant of the Accuser, and as such, his lawful prey is those who have never repented of their sins, nor accepted by faith the grace and forgiveness offered to them through Christ."

"I know it," said Christian, "but it is good to be reminded all the same, for I am sure you recall how persuasive his speech was. I met him a number of times while I was yet a child in the City of Destruction, and again in Desolation, and could not then stand against him. But in the valley, I found my armor to be most effective, for after he had dealt me a few hard blows, I remembered that the strength behind all his arguments lay in the Law, which no man is able to keep, and from which we had been delivered by the power of the gospel, and that _if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things._ Thus I managed to regain my footing and slipped past him. Yet it was a hard battle, and there are times I am not sure that I have truly escaped him."

"I feel the same," said Faithful. "For my part, I believe my greatest conflict was against Mistrust, and as determined as he was, I should not be surprised to meet him again."

"It is well that you did not yield to him," said Christian, "for he has succeeded in turning many from the truth, by causing them first to question and then to utterly doubt the very foundations of all truth."

"It is his subtlety, I think, which makes him most dangerous," said Faithful, "for we have heard often enough of those hailed by the world as great men of science and philosophy, who seem to spend their time in nothing but posing _foolish and unlearned questions_ , challenging various points of doctrine to the applause of many, though much of their reasoning is so faulty that a child might answer them. Yet if Mistrust had come out and plainly declared that he thought the Scriptures to be nothing but stories, and us to be the greatest fools for believing otherwise, I daresay even Little-Faith might have easily deflected such a clumsy attack. But like the serpent of old, he was careful to conceal his motives, feigning himself to be merely interested in my welfare, lest my trust should be misplaced, while all his words were poison, designed to weaken and destroy."

"And how did he proceed?" asked Christian.

"He did not deny the truth of the Scriptures, but wondered if I was quite certain I had understood them correctly, whether there might not be something in them I had overlooked or forgotten. He questioned whether I truly knew myself, if I was indeed showing good fruit and works in keeping with repentance, or whether I might not be self-deceived, and would by and by prove to be one of them who began well only to turn aside from the truth and fall away. He asked whether I had any friends, and where they were now, and what I really knew of them, and what they knew of me, and whether they might not—or if I should—"

She stopped suddenly and went on in silence a while before speaking again. "He also wondered how long I should be prepared to walk through the valley, or how often I might have to return there. For, he said, it could not be denied that such trials were sent by the sovereign will of the King, who might make our way long and hard for the purpose of refining and perfecting our faith, and that He should never relent until we were perfectly conformed to His image. And this, he said, was the grace of God, and what was meant by the prophet when he wrote, _It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning_ , that we should be granted so many opportunities to learn from and correct our mistakes until we should at last triumph over our sin. Yet being struck by the impossibility of this, I saw before me a long and weary road marked by continual failure, and it seemed such a hopeless, dreary prospect that it left me rather dreading the journey ahead and wondering if there was any sense in going on.

"But as I thought this, I perceived his purpose, and raising my sword and shield, remembered that the grace of God as revealed in the gospel does not merely offer us a fresh start and a second chance to succeed in our own strength, but it has secured a resounding victory over sin, the assurance of forgiveness, and the promise that _when He shall appear, we shall be like Him_ , though in this life we must daily contend against the desires of the flesh. Yet for this purpose, _He giveth more grace_. By this, I was encouraged and Mistrust put to flight, so that I was able to go on without fear."

Now as she concluded, Christian looked and saw a faint light shining far ahead.

"Can you see it?" she asked her companion.

Faithful looked intently for some time but at last shook her head.

"I see nothing," she said with a sigh, "but I do not doubt you, and it is a great comfort to think that we may soon either find shelter or meet with a friend."


	16. Toward the Light

Now the girls walked slowly, as the path grew narrow and the ground became rough and slippery, and they were forced to feel their way along and choose their steps carefully lest they should stumble over unseen obstacles. Here in darkness, weariness, cold, hunger, and thirst, with the wind in their faces and fearsome howling in their ears, they also began to grow somewhat confused, being unable to tell how long they had been walking or how far they had gone, as neither the light ahead nor the voices behind them seemed to come any nearer. Then after a while the light seemed to dim and at last faded from sight. Still, they went on until they supposed it should be night again, then sat down to rest by the side of the road.

For some time they sat in silence, as their strength was now nearly spent and they could no longer see any hope or encouragement ahead. But after a while they heard new voices, which seemed to belong to fellow pilgrims, walking some distance away.

"Hello," Christian called as they came near. "Who is there, and where are you going?"

"Hello," came the reply. "We are pilgrims on our way to the Celestial City."

"As are we," said Christian, "and glad to make your acquaintance. But are you not a little off the path? For it is here before us."

"No indeed," said the other, " _we_ are on the right path, as anyone can plainly see. It must be you who are off it."

This caused Christian and Faithful no little confusion, and they sat wondering for a moment before Faithful said, "We can see nothing, but we did _think_ we were on the right path."

"We cannot help that," came the answer, "but we have been on this path since we left home, and know it to be the true one. Now if you wish to reach the city, you must follow us."

And so they started off again, calling for the girls to come along. Now Faithful whispered to her companion, "What do you think? Should we go with them?"

"Wait a moment," said Christian. "If they speak the truth, we would do well to heed their advice. Yet I hope by now we have learned that we cannot trust all we meet."

"Indeed," said Faithful. "We do not even know their names, or where they came from, much less any reason why we ought to take them as our guides. If they are not utter deceivers, yet they may be the blind leading the blind."

So they remained where they were, and presently found themselves alone once more. Still they sat wondering and sighing for some time before Christian spoke again.

"I wonder," she began, "if we might indeed have gone out of the way. Not that I am convinced they were right after all," she added quickly, "but I do wonder all the same. For though I thought we had been going perfectly straight, this seems just the sort of place where one might easily get turned around. I have heard there are a number of paths here which seem to run alongside the right one, which turn aside so slowly that we might hardly notice if we were not watching carefully. Perhaps in our confusion we might have stepped onto one of them."

"It hardly seems possible," Faithful began, then sighed and shook her head. "But doubtless the same has been said by many who have gone astray, whose confidence in their own wisdom has led to their ruin."

"And now," Christian continued, "who can tell if all these trials, which we supposed to be confirmation that we were on the right path, were no more than the consequences of our turning aside, and warnings to return?"

"But even if this is the case," answered Faithful, "how can we return? For if we cannot tell where we went wrong, we cannot now hope to find our way back on our own, without some guidance or direction."

"Then I suppose we had better ask for it," said Christian, and with that, she began to pray, first giving thanks for the grace they had been shown thus far, then asking pardon for any sins they may have committed in ignorance, and finally asking for wisdom to guide them until they should at last arrive at their destination. To all this, Faithful gave full assent before adding a few words of her own, praying that the enemies who still pursued them might either be changed into friends, or that they might be so thoroughly confused as to no longer be any threat to them.

"I cannot regret giving Want our book," Christian said once she had concluded, "knowing that she certainly needs it more than we do, and yet I wish we still had it all the same, and some light to read by."

"As do I," answered Faithful. "Yet I think we may rightly say, _Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee._ "

"True. And, _Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light into my path_ ," Christian said, then gasped, for the words had scarcely left her mouth when the path before them lit up.

Now they saw the truth of the proverb, _the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day_ , as the light ahead appeared once more, even brighter than before, so that Faithful now saw it as well, and on the far horizon, they saw the clouds break and the distant hills outlined by a brilliant display which put the greatest fireworks Vanity had to offer to shame. So encouraged were they by this sight that they forgot, for a moment, their weariness and hunger, and getting up at once, they ran down the path, soon making more progress than they had since they left the town.

Yet even as they ran, giving thanks for the light, the road grew more difficult, so that before long they were forced to slow their pace once more, while the voices seemed to draw nearer until it sounded as if they were almost upon them. Then they saw running beside their path a fence which they might easily get over by some steps that had been set up there, and beyond it softer ground and trees which might shelter them from the wind and hide them from their enemies. But as they thought on this, they saw by the steps a small sign which read:

 _Over this stile is the way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair, who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to destroy His holy pilgrims._

Beneath it was posted an addition which read, _The highway of the upright is to depart from evil: he that keepeth his way preserveth his soul._

Further ahead, they saw a number of other signs, some larger, some smaller, some carved in wood, a few chiseled in stone, and many little more than hastily scrawled notes. Yet for all their differences, their message was the same, as all agreed with or expounded upon the first point, warning pilgrims to learn from the misfortunes of those who had ignored good counsel and barely escaped with their lives, and take heed to their ways, lest they too should be caught by the giant. One read, _The way of a fool is right in his own eyes: but he that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise_ , while another said, _There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death_ , and still another said only _Escape for thy life; look not behind thee_.

Now the girls also heard a voice behind them calling, " _This is the way, walk ye in it._ "

"Well," said Christian, "I suppose if there was ever any question about it, we could hardly wish for a clearer answer than that."

"Indeed," said Faithful, "if we had not already determined to stay on this path, I would think that would have certainly settled the matter."

Thus they went on, but they had not gone far when their pursuers at last came upon them, with Envy, Malice, and Strife in the lead, Ignorance and Prejudice following close behind, and a number of merchants and tradesmen and others from the town, all running to evil, and making haste to shed innocent blood, with thoughts of iniquity and wasting and destruction in their paths, _speaking oppression and revolt, conceiving and uttering from the heart words of falsehood_ against the pilgrims and all they represented. There was a breathless moment when it seemed that the girls should certainly be seized by the mob, but after another moment they saw that they did not come onto the path, or even seem to notice it at all, but went along on the left and the right, groping and stumbling about as if blind, and rather venting their fury to anyone who would hear than directing their words to any particular object.

Amid the noise, the girls heard another voice whispering in their ears, " _The way of peace they know not; and there is no judgment in their goings: they have made them crooked paths: whosoever goeth therein shall not know peace._ "

The voice seemed to belong to a woman, but when Christian and Faithful looked about, they could see no one with them. Still they perceived that though _he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey_ , they should be safe enough at present, and thus went quickly and quietly on their way, hoping the crowd would soon tire of their pursuit and return home.

After a while, the voice came again, now some distance ahead of them, calling, " _How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity? and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge? Turn you at my reproof: behold, I will pour out my spirit unto you, I will make known my words unto you._ "

Her words were gentle, yet commanding, and rang out clearly above the wind. Yet only a few of those from Vanity seemed to hear her, and those who did grew all the more enraged. Even so, she continued:

" _O ye simple, understand wisdom: and, ye fools, be ye of an understanding heart. Hear; for I will speak of excellent things; and the opening of my lips shall be right things. Receive my instruction, and not silver; and knowledge rather than choice gold. For wisdom is better than rubies; and all the things that may be desired are not to be compared to it._ "

Even as she spoke, there came a very distinguished and very irritable gentleman walking quickly toward them.

"Back!" he called. "Go back, all of you, if you value your lives. Back home, back to safety and comfort, for I have been down this road, and I can tell you there's none to be found in that direction."

This the people seemed to hear, for they at once stopped in their tracks, and many seemed ready to turn back with delay.

The man continued, "And now a great storm is coming. Go back while you still can."

As if in confirmation of his words, it now began to snow, large white flakes which would have looked very nice if not for the wind. At this, a number of people turned and ran with all speed back to Vanity, while others turned aside to seek shelter beneath the trees, and became entangled in the branches, or went on blindly until they were lost, or walked straight into the path of the Giant Despair as he was strolling about the borders of his property.

Still the voice called, " _Blessed is the man that heareth me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors. For whoso findeth me findeth life, and shall obtain favour of the LORD. But he that sinneth against me wrongeth his own soul: all they that hate me love death._ "

As she spoke this last word, the rest of the pursuers scattered, as though they judged whatever lay ahead to be worse than death. Now Christian and Faithful found themselves alone and nearly blinded by the snow so that they could hardly see more than a few steps ahead, yet they encouraged one another that they should soon come to shelter and rest, and as they went on a little further, the wind settled some, and they presently saw a house which had candles burning in all its windows.

Coming at last to the door, they knocked and were at once greeted by a familiar face.

"Come in, come in," exclaimed Prudence, pulling them inside and brushing the snow from their clothes before giving them both a warm embrace. "You look half frozen."

Now by this time, the girls were so thoroughly exhausted that they could hardly say a word without yawning, but Prudence only smiled as she ushered them into what appeared to be a large library where a pair of couches sat before a blazing fire. Then wrapping them in thick blankets and pressing a mug of hot soup into their hands, she bid them sit down and soak their feet while she called the lady of the house. How long she was gone they could not say, for they just managed to finish their soup before they fell sound asleep and knew no more until the morning.


	17. The House of Wisdom

When the girls awoke, they found themselves in a large and comfortable bed, in a small but sunny room with tall windows overlooking a bright, snowy scene below. Above one of the windows, they saw the words, _Grace to you and peace from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ._ Above the next, they read, _Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest._ And above the third was written, _Now the Lord of peace Himself give you peace always by all means. The Lord be with you all._

For some time the girls did not speak, but looked about in wonder, as though they could hardly believe their good fortune.

"Well," Faithful said at last, "where do you suppose we are now?"

"I cannot tell," answered Christian, "though when I think of our journey here, I could almost imagine this were the Celestial City itself."

"At least it must be very near to it," said Faithful. "But to tell the truth, I fear my wits were becoming disordered, for I can hardly remember what happened last night. Was it my imagination, or did Prudence meet us at the door?"

"I did indeed," answered Prudence, entering the room with a smile. "Good morning. I hope you slept well."

"Very well, thank you," answered Christian, "and many thanks for your hospitality. I hardly know what would have become of us if we had not come when we did."

"You are most welcome," said Prudence, "and indeed, few could last long in such weather as we had last night. But there was no need to fear, for we were told to expect you, and so we kept watch."

"But where are we now?" asked Faithful. "And who lives here?"

"This is another house built by order of the King for the benefit of His people," Prudence answered, "and as you have guessed, it lies very near to that City to which you are going. Though it may look small and plain enough on the outside, you will find here a mighty fortress, and the best school in all the world. You are, in fact, in the house of Wisdom, and if you would come to the library for breakfast, she would very much like to make your acquaintance."

Now the girls had often heard this name since they began their journey, and being a little nervous to meet such a grand person, anxiously asked Prudence what she was like.

"She is just as she should be," said Prudence, "pure, peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy. There are indeed some who call her stern and exacting, yet you may be sure this is nothing but the slander of fools. I have no doubt you will like her very much. But I will let her introduce herself, for I think she rather enjoys doing that."

So before long, the girls made their way to the library, which now looked far larger and grander than it had the night before. Now before the fire there was set a table, and by it stood a woman with a book in her hand, tall and plainly dressed, yet with a regal air about her. She appeared neither young nor exceptionally old, and dignified without being stiff, as she closed her book and greeted the girls with a gracious smile.

"Good morning," she said, "and welcome."

The girls returned the greeting and began to apologize that they had not met her last night, but far from seeming annoyed by their lack of courtesy, Wisdom smiled and shook her head.

"Of course," she said kindly, "I expected you would be tired. You see, I know something of you already, as doubtless you have heard something of me. But since we are all here now, let us sit down together, and I will tell you of myself."

Then seating herself at the table, she gestured for them to join her, and after blessing the food, invited them to eat and drink, while she began thus:

" _I Wisdom dwell with Prudence, and find out knowledge of witty inventions. The fear of the LORD is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate. Counsel is mine, and sound wisdom: I am understanding; I have strength. By me kings reign, and princes decree justice. By me princes rule, and nobles, even all the judges of the earth._ "

As she spoke, the room seemed to grow brighter and warmer, and as the girls became aware of the sound of water dripping and felt a gentle breeze which carried with it the smell of grass and fresh flowers, they felt as though spring had come early, and half wondered if the snow outside had only been a dream.

Wisdom continued, " _I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me. Riches and honour are with me; yea, durable riches and righteousness. My fruit is better than gold, yea, than fine gold; and my revenue than choice silver. I lead in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment: that I may cause those that love me to inherit substance; and I will fill their treasures._

"Now," she said after a little pause, "I would ask you about your journey, and no doubt there is much we could say on that subject, but there will be time enough to get better acquainted later. First we must see to your injuries."

At this, the girls looked puzzled and were about to protest that they felt quite well, when they looked and saw to their own surprise that they had, in fact, been wounded, for their arms now appeared to be covered with a number of scratches and bruises, besides a few faint scars.

"I hardly need to ask," said Wisdom, "whether you have had dealings with those _who whet their tongue like a sword, and bend their bows to shoot their arrows, even bitter words: that they may shoot in secret at the perfect_."

"We have," replied Christian, "but we did not think the results to be anything serious."

"But after these encounters, did you not find yourselves struggling with some lingering confusion or forgetfulness, some recurring doubts or fears?"

The girls were silent a moment before Faithful spoke.

"I did," she admitted, "though I tried not to think of it."

Wisdom shook her head gravely. "Here is a deadly poison which has slain many by its subtlety. It does not appear to have spread far, yet there may be much hidden beneath the surface which should not been left untreated. But do not trouble yourselves. _There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health_ , and the cure should be simple enough."

She paused and considered them carefully a moment before asking, "How long has it been since you attended to the words of life?"

Again, the girls appeared surprised, and now almost offended, yet before they could speak, Wisdom raised a hand and added, "I know you have long been in the habit of daily reading and studying to show yourselves approved. I am not accusing you of any neglect on that account. But how long has it been since you looked to the Scriptures for your own benefit, rather than for that of others, and found rest and strength in the words of peace and comfort and encouragement?"

Now I saw the girls did not know how to answer, not wishing to say that they had had no time, yet clearly perplexed as to how they could have spared even a moment in light of all their other responsibilities. Wisdom at once perceived how things stood, and laying a comforting hand upon them both, spoke gently.

"I have no doubt you have been much occupied in a very worthy business, yet even when there were many coming and going and much work to be done, our Lord told His disciples, _Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while_ , knowing it would do no harm, but rather help both them and those they desired to serve. And here is a matter of great importance, which you might have done, without leaving the other undone.

"Now," she said, "you will find this an extraordinarily large library, with many places well suited to rest and private study. I must leave you a while to attend to other matters, but please, look around and find a place where you might have some solitude, and I will come to you by and by and see how you do."

She stood as if to take her leave, but before she did, Christian asked if they might borrow some of the books there.

"That _is_ the purpose of a library," remarked Wisdom, "and here you will find many good books, yet you must start with only the best."

To this the girls agreed, but said they had none, which greatly surprised Wisdom.

"But surely you did not come so far without a copy of your own?" she asked, looking from one girl to the other.

So Faithful explained that they had given it to Want, an answer which evidently pleased Wisdom well.

"And yet," she said, "it will not do for you to go without."

Stepping toward the nearest shelf, she thought a moment before taking two books. Then looking them over carefully, she marked a few pages here and there before handing them to the girls.

"I know they will not be quite the same," she said, "for these books tend to collect memories between their pages, which will not be easily replaced. But I hope they will serve you well all the same."

With that, she took her leave, and after a moment, the girls also went their separate ways to explore the library.


	18. The Two Rooms

"Oh, dear," Christian said to herself, "I do hope I haven't gotten myself lost."

It had not taken long to see that Wisdom had spoken the truth about the library being extraordinarily large. After wandering some time through a seemingly endless maze of shelves, Christian now stood uncertainly at an intersection, looking this way and that, as if wondering whether she had passed it once already. At last she seemed to make up her mind and, going on a little further, presently came to the end of the aisle, where she found a pair of dark, heavy curtains. Pulling them back, she found to her surprise not a window, but a door, and upon it a sign bearing this inscription:

 _As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in Him: rooted and built up in Him, and stablished in the faith, as ye have been taught, abounding therein with thanksgiving. Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ._

Now Christian stood pondering these words for some time before looking about to see whether there might be any other clues to what they might mean. Finding none, she hesitated, then knocked cautiously on the door, and receiving no answer, carefully opened it and looked inside.

Here she found what appeared to be a small living room, with a large, comfortable chair sitting before a fire, and beside it a small table with a candlestick. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a woman sitting at a desk, looking composed and contented, with a pen in her hand and children playing by her skirts, while the two opposite walls were lined with shelves full of books.

Christian found here a number of elegant volumes with embossed leather covers and gilt pages, offering treatises on marriage, motherhood, and managing one's time and resources well, as well as advice for young ladies on topics ranging from manners and deportment to health and beauty to becoming a better reader. Indeed, there seemed to be a book for everything and everyone, yet few that appealed to Christian in particular.

At last she came across one titled _Heroines of the Faith: Women of the Word and What We Can Learn from Them_ , and opening it found a sketch of the author, which looked a good deal like the woman in the portrait. She wrote in an easy, conversational style which at once engaged her reader, expounding upon Scripture with the detail of a learned scholar and the feeling of an artist, which came together in wonderful illustrations which seemed to bring the accounts to life as never before, while extracting from them various principles, which she skillfully wove together with a number of amusing anecdotes and cautionary tales from her own life, all presented in a warm and motherly tone which made Christian sigh and miss her own mother. But recalling her purpose and finding the room too dark for prolonged study, and warm enough to put her to sleep, she closed the book and put it back in its place, resolving to come back and read further if she had the opportunity.

Then leaving the room, she went on until she came to another door, and opening it found a well-lit study with a small desk in the corner, a shelf full of old books, and walls covered with maps and paintings depicting scenes from the Scriptures. She stood studying and admiring these for some time before settling down in the chair and opening her book, to read of Rahab and Ruth, the songs of Hannah and Mary, and the wisdom and courage of Deborah, Jael, and Esther. She read, moreover, of David and Goliath, of Elijah contending with the prophets of Baal, of the cleansing of Naaman and the raising of Lazarus, and in all these, she was encouraged not only by the examples of great faith, but also by the testimonies of the grace and power of God.

Then closing her book, she turned to the books on the shelf, where she found such titles as _The Centrality of the Cross in Interpreting Scripture_ and _Law and Gospel: A Brief Commentary on the Letter to the Romans_. These did not at first excite much interest, for though it could not be denied that such topics were of great importance, the books themselves were very plain and old, and their language seemed at first to be as dry and dusty as their covers. Yet as Christian began to read, she found here many simple yet profound truths which seemed to shed new light on all she had read previously, so much so that she often stopped and looked again at one passage or another, and at last went back and reread each one, ever seeing the good news it carried more clearly.

Here she remained for some time until Wisdom came and found her.

"How are you feeling now?" she inquired.

"Very well," Christian replied.

"Indeed," said Wisdom, looking upon her approvingly, "I can see you are already much improved. Did you find the books here helpful?"

"I did," Christian answered. "I can hardly believe what a difference they have made. I am sure I have read these accounts often enough, but I feel as though I hardly understood them before, or received half so much benefit from them."

"The best books do have that effect," said Wisdom. "Indeed, most books say far less with far more words, and apply to far fewer people, and I have here entire rooms full of books which I keep for reference, which I would rather see destroyed before I gave up one of these."

"Like the room behind the curtain?" asked Christian. "I found a book there I enjoyed a great deal, though I cannot tell now how it might compare to these."

At this, Wisdom smiled, and Christian saw that she held in her hand the book in question, which she now held out to her.

"Why don't you read it now, and tell me what you think of it," she said.

So Christian looked again and, to her great surprise, found the book she had previously thought so engaging and enlightening to be sadly lacking. She now saw that a number of verses had plainly been taken from their proper context, while others had been changed to fit the author's meaning. Furthermore, it was plain that in her interpretations, the author had engaged in a good deal of speculation and allegorization, so that for all the book's apparent clarity, the true meaning of the text had been greatly obscured. Yet perhaps the most troublesome realization was that of the author's emphasis, which had turned descriptive texts into prescriptive texts, and indicatives into imperatives, and thus replaced good news with merely good advice.

"Do you see much difference now?" asked Wisdom.

"I do," answered Christian, "so much so that I can hardly believe it is the same book, and wonder that I did not see this before."

"Yet it is hardly surprising," said Wisdom, "for such books are like candy. They are sweet, but not entirely satisfying when one is truly hungry, and safe enough in moderation, but as deadly as poison if one's diet consists of little else. Doubtless if you have never read anything better, you will find them tempting enough, regardless of the danger, but if you have a feast set before you each day and fill your plate with the choicest delicacies, you will have little appetite for such interior works.

"But now," she said, "we must be off, for there is someone here who would very much like to see you. Perhaps when you hear her story, it will help you will understand things more clearly."


End file.
